


Generosity of Spirit

by lowstandards



Series: Finding Family [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: (but of a side character), (so it’s there as a warning but it’s mild at worst), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bickering, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Dialogue Heavy, Domestic, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Family, Fluff, Internalized Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:14:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 31,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27821338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lowstandards/pseuds/lowstandards
Summary: Padmé brings her boyfriend, Obi-Wan, home for Christmas to prove she can find balance and happiness to her family. Small problem: her unconventional family is overwhelming at the best of times and oh yeah, he’s not actually her boyfriend. It doesn’t help that her brother Anakin is determined to ruin their (fake) relationship and Obi-Wan sets Padmé up for a real romance of her own.(we call this the indulgent The Family Stone AU)
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano, Basically lots of sibling and family dynamics, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker, Padmé Amidala & Anakin Skywalker, Padmé Amidala & Obi-Wan Kenobi
Series: Finding Family [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2057214
Comments: 48
Kudos: 161





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah so self indulgent The Family Stone inspired AU, but taking LOTS of liberties to make the dynamics work out for an obikin focused fic.  
> Basically I wrote this for me 🥰  
> Also call it gentle enemies to lovers but like. They’re not really enemies, Anakin is just dramatic.  
> And note for anyone unfamiliar with the movie: Ahsoka is hearing impaired in this

Without the dark shutters, a stranger would miss the snow-buried house amidst the rest of the scenic winter-scape. Not that Ahsoka would ever pass over it though, her childhood home hidden in layers of powdered precipitation and a front yard that was nearly its own forest. It made quite the weathered picture, with its quaint New England charm and the way it glowed from within, like a jack-o-lantern. But a jack-o-lantern fit the wrong season, so more like a cozy fireplace— flickering golden windows oozing warmth. Though for all its arguably insubstantial exterior, the inside always bustled with merriment year round. Light seeped through it, woven with laughter and age and love, epitomizing a family home, with its hashes on the kitchen doorway to mark the ever changing height of six children over the years, each with their own color. Life imprinted everywhere, in the juvenile posters still tacked up in bedrooms that now sat empty most of the year, old awards tucked away in drawers and fridge magnets that bragged of baby pictures and childhood scrawls. Years together and not a thing changed, just weathered and aged like wine. 

Shmi argued, often and adamantly (not that she faced much opposition) that homes have their seasons. Some homes are meant to be enjoyed in summer: bright beachy colors and open windows and lazy ceiling fans— But this home thrived and shone in winter. Hibernation knew no place here, even nestled among the abundant quilted comforters or warming before the brick fireplace. Despite the coziness, the Jinn-Skywalker clan never outgrew family gatherings and all the hectic charm that accompanied them. So for all the promised warm drinks and motherly love, it was chaotic. And Ahsoka, nor any of her siblings, would ever wish it differently. Home can mean many things and though they circumvent traditionalism entirely, this is there one exception. All for the sake of hot cocoa and popcorn wreaths and a certain childish nostalgia that none of them outgrew.

Though it’s also entirely bold to pretend the house was a solace of any kind. Again, that might be true for some families, but not for them. Comprised exclusively of too strong personalities, each meeting was a war and a competition- but there were no losers. 

Not like they didn’t try though, and informally declared victory over all sorts of things, including arriving first.

Ahsoka, arms laden with grocery bags, pushed open the kitchen backdoor with a kick and shouldered in. She yelled “Mom! Merry Christmas” even without seeing the woman yet, just knowing she was there, waiting. She toed off her boots- a complicated feat to prevent tracking in snow while her hands were still busy with bags. 

“Oh— get that door closed!” Shmi complained playfully, half signing but hands too busy reaching for both of them, “And let me get those—” because she could hardly hug her daughter with a collection of packaged vegetables between them. 

“We hit traffic,” Barriss apologized, letting out a relieved breath and accepting the embrace as much as they were both able. 

“Barriss! It’s so good to see you!” Shmi grinned with all her heart, placing pecks on her daughter’s checks and hugging both of the girls.

Ahsoka fussed, as all children do when pretending to be too old for affection. She pulled off her scarf and coat to welcome her mom’s embrace nonetheless. “Is Padmé here yet?” she asked, padding out of the entryway on socked feet.

“She promised they’d be here in time for dinner.”

“You know Anakin missed both his flights yesterday?” She grinned, shit-eating and Shmi rolled her eyes.

“Oh, I know— didn’t he tell you? He decided to just drive in instead, so unless he crashed off some highway he could get here whenever.” She gave an exasperated but endeared shake of her head. Finally she let them come into the home properly so they could breathe and unload groceries and all the rest they brought. In a cozy corner of the kitchen, tucked by a curtained window, sat Shmi’s old desk- a rickety table covered in age darkened nicks and paint drips from school projects gone awry. She tucked up in front of it then perked at her own array of papers she’d set out earlier. “Hey, wait-” Shmi piped up, “Barriss- I found another recipe on the Gourmet site this morning.”

“It’s better not be for onions,” she caught Shmi’s sheepish look, “I emailed you my mother’s recipe this morning.”

“Well—“ A great creaking of their front door cut her off, then the sure and heavy sound of it shutting. “We’re in here, honey!” She hollered with still unbridled excitement. 

Qui-Gon came in, layers of scarf and jacket around his already great form- a gentle giant. His face cracked with age and kindness as he brandished a plate, “Plo’s famous brownies.” He set them down and pressed a kiss to his wife’s cheek, then turned with a still glowing smile. 

“Hello daughter,” his voice rumbled warmly, “Barriss, so good to see you. How was traffic?”

-

“Padmé, I just think you are far too confident in your assessment that they _won’t_ hate me. Or perhaps _dislike_ me, if hate is far too strong a word for it.”

They’d been over this a million times already since driving out of the city. Her palms sweat and she rejoiced at not driving, so her nerves weren’t on display for Obi-Wan to watch and pick apart. Though even with his eyes on the road, he was no idiot. Her silence and the tense way she laughed said much more than anything else. If she were her usual self she’d be reaching over and smacking him for being stupid and nervous in his own way. Instead she and her limbs stayed entirely confined to a bundle of anxiety in the passenger seat. 

“I mean, I’ve only ever met your brother and I don’t believe he was very fond of me—“

“They’ll like you.” She asserted, with a voice like she was finalizing a business proposal and not just having a friendly conversation in the car. The crackle of holiday music on the radio felt out of place with her sincerity. But neither one of them had bothered to find a better station during their ride so at this point, the music was mostly static anyways. Padmé cleared her throat. “Everyone likes you, Obi-Wan. You’re perfect.”

His laugh was just as humorless. “You sound like you’re offering me up as a candidate, fighting my corner. I’m only a guest and even I won’t be disappointed if we find they aren’t falling in love with me by the end of this.”

She stayed silent a beat too long. 

“Padmé.”

“Yeah— oh, well, it’s just that… There’s a small detail I _may_ not have mentioned.” He noticed how her head jerked to look out the window, at the banks of white slush and snow pushed off of the road. The further they drove from high rises and skyscrapers, the taller the mounds of snow grew to replace the architecture. And the cleaner it got; dirty grey snow piles turned to fields and yards of pure white, trees heavy with precipitation, looking fragile in the cold. “You see— and I am _so glad_ you’re coming and I promise they’ll adore you… but they may be under the impression that you’re _meeting_ them.” 

Obi-Wan frowned, casting her a quick glance before his eyes fixed solidly back in front of him. “I am _meeting_ them, Padme—“

“No I mean like, _meeting_ the family— Like they may be under the impression—“

He groaned. “Oh my god.“ 

“Just _slightly_ under the impression that we—“

“They think we’re _dating?_ ” Obi-Wan yelped, hand shaking enough for him to swerve a fraction over the double yellow lines of a thankfully empty road. She cringed. 

“It’s only— They might have slightly misunderstood our… _relationship_.”

His hands stayed steady this time but even from the corner of her eye she could see the frown of his eyebrows, surely there was a manic spark to his eyes too that he only got when particularly incensed. “Our _relationship?_ Oh, right! And I wonder how they missed the mark— And you couldn’t have mentioned this before making the drive out here?”

Since the moment they met, Padmé remained intrigued by the tone and quality of Obi-Wan’s voice— neither particularly deep or particularly high, it could take on a grittier note or an offended uptick quite spontaneously. Of course it was wrong to find any amusement in that incredibly affronted almost whine now. 

“I’m so sorry!” She pleaded without a trace of apology in her voice. “It’s just that… Well! You know how they are—“

“ _No_ , Padmé, I certainly do not!”

“ _Yes_ , Obi, I’ve told you before! They’re great, of _course_ I love my family but— Mom’s been so insistent about relationships lately— she thinks I’m unhappy and I’ll never find someone. She thinks I’m unhappy because of work and I just— she thinks _all_ I do is work—“

“Oh, so she’s right and knows you quite well then.”

“Very funny. But no! They all think I’m not taking care of myself and… that I don’t make time for friends or family or _dating_ or _anything_ so when I said I was bringing someone home for Christmas I just— It was very easy to _let them_ believe what they wanted!”

“Very easy indeed.” Obi-Wan huffed. The blinking of the turn signal punctuated his sentence, then the car rumbled around a corner onto a residential street of humble homes with ample seasonal decorations. Wreaths and multi color twinkling lights strung up everywhere, and blow up snowmen galore. 

“I know,“ Padmé sighed, and for the first time, seemed remorseful. 

Obi-Wan’s long suffering exasperation outdid hers. Yet in his eyes - unseen to Padmé who kept her gaze fixed out the window - there softened sympathy, because in the end he was always nothing of not understanding. “I only wish you’d told me earlier.” Not when they were only minutes from pulling into the driveway of her family home. But of course this was the type of situation he would get himself into: anxiety-riddled meet-the-parents moments apparently not avoidable by not even being in a relationship in the first place. 

She turned to him with sudden excitement, “Obi-Wan this will mean the world to me. And really, how different does it make things? You’re still here - _as a friend_ \- and I still _want_ you here— and they’ll still love you! They’ll just also think _you_ love _me_ -“

“And unfortunately, I _do_ \- though perhaps less in this precise moment.” He cast his eyes from the road to give her a still tight but more genuine smile. It was a promise, she knew, that he wouldn’t try to ruin things for her- though she knew that already. There was no one else in the world she would have asked this of, asked to pretend to be her boyfriend in front of her family to save face. No one else would take it in stride so easily, even if it was entirely absurd. 

“How deep must we go with this whole ruse? Won’t they ask us about first dates and all those typical things? And there is the small fact that I’ve _met_ your brother. Won’t he be suspicious?”

Padmé waved a hand, reassured and relieved for the moment. Her biggest fear had been telling Obi-Wan— not lying to her family, to her parents, or having the whole thing unravel some other way. No, she’d most feared telling her good and honest companion what horrible scheme she involved him in. She sat back straight in her seat, eyes on the road and smiling, “Don’t worry about any of that. We just have to be honest, no reason to make up some meet-cute. We were - and _are_ \- still friends, we can just say the relationship is new—“

“Very new.”

“ _And,_ “ she continued with a sour glance at him, “Anakin won’t be a problem. He likes you.”

-

“I _hate_ him.” Anakin deadpanned, sitting on the kitchen counter and pulling off one shoe (hightops entirely unsuited for the snow, as his mother pointed out). Ahsoka snorted when he repeated the sign again, flicking his fingers forward. 

“Anakin—” Qui-Gon admonished.

“What?”

“ _Generosity_.” His father sighed, the most disappointed form of affection in his voice. “Generosity of spirit.”

“Thank you.” Barriss nodded, taking as much pride in mocking Anakin as Ahsoka did.

“Anakin, you’re going to get me in trouble,” Shmi scolded. Anakin pulled off a damp sock, almost falling off the counter as he sputtered protest.

“Wait, I thought no one had even met him?” Barriss questioned, looking dubiously at Anakin whose eyes only widened with comic confirmation.

“ _No_ , I was down in New York in October— I had dinner with them. And he’s like, a _total_ phony! A square— He’s completely uptight! We went to this _stiff_ restaurant and he didn’t say a word the entire time he just sat there with this like-” he stopped and made a severe face, so a furrow formed between his brows, “this _face_ the whole time. There’s like a constant crease right on his head like I’m surprised he doesn’t just pass out-” He rushed his emphatic signs; Ahsoka laughed, elbowing past him to grab a mug from a cabinet. 

“Oh so he actually _thinks_?” Ahsoka signed, “Of course you’ve never seen a look of concentration before.”

“Haha, very funny Snips-“ He only stopped because the front door shut loudly and Sabé yelled out a “Hello!” that met with thunderous echoes in the kitchen.

But before she came in, two sets of footsteps came hurrying down the stairs and all three burst in together, Sabé with both twins clinging to her waist and making it impossible for her to walk. 

“Hey sweetie-” Shmi laughed as Sabe tried to wave, unable to press hugs or kisses to anyone with her younger siblings wrapped around her like eels. She frog marched best as possible, and the more she struggled the tighter the twins clung. 

“Is Padmé here?” She asked, prying their little arms off and telling them to pester Anakin and Ahsoka instead. The new mission was the only reason they let go. 

Shmi shook her head, her smile all sweet and adoring as her home filled once more. Only one child still missing, but there could never be an excess of affection. With all of them there once more it would still multiply a million times over. “No. Anakin - oh, my God- was just telling us all about _Obi-Wan_. He’s a tense square, apparently—”

“Why do you encourage him?” Qui-Gon sighed from his place at his wife’s side.

“Well,” Barriss leaned forward from the kitchen table, accepting a mug of coffee from Ahsoka. “Anakin never likes anyone.” The bitterness in her tone could pass off as playful, especially as she peered at him with one carefully lifted eyebrow. 

Anakin’s mouth fell into an offended gasp, “ _Barriss_ .” His hand flew to his heart with affront, like some scandalized old Hollywood star. He signed adoringly and slowly to accompany his gently spoken words, “I _love_ you.” 

“That took _years_!” Ahsoka laughed and all Anakin’s affected kindness drained away as he made a face before pointing with enthusiasm at Sabé.

“You got him on the phone once, right?”

“Uh- yeah?” she shrugged, “He was a little… curt? We didn’t talk much—”

“Look,” finding her evasion to his crusade traitorous, he pressed on, “I love Padmé but her partners can be stuck up!”

“Anakin!” Shmi’s worst attempt yet to have him shut up. 

“Like, I _swear_ the guy has a silver spoon up his ass—”  
“I think you’re jealous of the spoon.” Ahsoka quipped before ducking out the kitchen door and blissfully not seeing his protests and fake retching. Barriss snorted and reached over to give a hello to Sabé, while Luke and Leia showed her the gingerbread houses they made. Anakin sat pulling off his other shoe and sock (lamely ignored during his anti-Obi-Wan tirade) while the older girls cooed over Leia’s delicate and picture-perfect gingerbread house and Luke’s colorful, spunky, sprinkle-covered masterpiece.

Outside a car door shut, and Ahsoka clumsily slid through the swinging kitchen doors, gliding with her socks on the linoleum. “They’re here!”

In the silence of his car, just turned off, Obi-Wan stated “Right. So I’m your _fake_ boyfriend. No big deal.” If those clipped sentences didn’t betray him, the tension of his body would. His hands clenched around the steering wheel, arms robotically straightening. 

Padmé smiled tightly, leaned over and planted a kiss on his cheek, “Don’t get nervous now.” As if she hadn’t spent the whole ride up to her confession practically vibrating with anticipation. 

“I’m not!” His eyebrows shot high on his forehead and he took a deep breath- hardly reassuring but it made both of them loosen up a little.

“Besides- they’re all watching, you know.”

“ _What?_ ” 

“Yeah.” she turned and pointed at the family room window, where the glare from snow and sun made it impossible for them to see inside but she knew her family, and sure enough, eight sets of eyes peered expectantly. As a family hoard, they watched Obi-Wan climb out of the driver’s side and grab their bags from the trunk of the car, and Padmé slowly stepped out of the passenger side.

“Oh my god, why does she look so terrified?” Sabé whispered when Padmé visibly swallowed and they all recognized the tell-tale tic: her nerve-driven throat-clearing that made rare appearances in situations where even the infallible Padmé grew anxious. Because for all her relief once Obi-Wan was in on the plan, a residual panic welled up inside her. Oh yes, now she had to confront the real problem: actually getting away with lying to her family the whole holiday. 

As the two approached the door, it dawned on Shmi what a horribly overbearing greeting party they were and Qui-Gon, with similar foresight, turned to Anakin and wagged a finger “You behave yourself.”

“Why are you singling me out?” He squawked, “I’m on my best behavior, Dad!”

Ahsoka lunged forward to open the door, seeing Padmé with a hand raised and she laughed “Were you about to knock? I can’t believe it- you _live_ here and you were gonna knock-” but she also pulled her sister into a hug and let them both in. The hallway exploded with hellos.

Family introductions were always a mess, but this time made no easier by the way they all gathered in a clump in their narrow front hall, Anakin, Sabé and their parents having to stand on the bottom stair steps to make room. Padmé glanced about, taking them all in with a bewildered smile on her face, but all nervousness revealed by the throat clearing and superfluous flutter of her hands. 

“Obi-Wan, this is Ahsoka,”

He grinned, and with all Anakin’s warning that this man was a stuck up square, she instantly smiled back at the warmth and friendliness just coming off him in waves. “Oh! Yes, Ahsoka. I’ve heard so much about you.” He moved his hand in slow but correct signs and her eyes widened.

“You sign?”

“Only a little,” he admitted sheepishly, but any effort at all she was overwhelmingly appreciative of, and she could already tell he was understating it. She was too accustomed to strangers yelling and over enunciating in their attempts to accommodate her, or just treating her as if she weren’t there outright. 

“Don’t worry,” she said, still grinning and pointing to her head, “I can still hear-“ though she waved a hand in a so-so motion, “and lip read so don’t stress it— This is Barriss,” Ahsoka turned to introduce and while the welcomes rippled, she half muttered, half signed to Anakin _he’s English?_ and the roll of his eyes told her an absolute, and incredibly satisfying _yes_.

“And you remember Anakin,” Padmé breathed, looking flustered with Anakin’s unhelpful biting “Hello there,” spoken from his impersonal high ground on the stairs, but a welcome which Obi-Wan returned in kind.

“You remember me, right? The mother?” Shmi teased, taking Padmé’s face in her hands and planting a kiss on her forehead. Her attempt at impatience would have been more convincing if she weren’t so clearly overjoyed. 

“Yes- And this is Shmi. Mom, this is Obi-Wan.”

He laughed a light, certain laugh and nodded “Hello- You have a lovely home.”

“All the better to entertain you, my dear. Welcome, and Merry Christmas, to our lovely home,” she looked at her own walls like she’d never seen them before. “What a shame Padmé hasn’t been able to bring you here sooner- she and Anakin have of course told us so many wonderful things about you.”

“Alright dear, don’t overdo it,” Qui-Gon chastised before lifting a hand, clapping Obi-Wan on the shoulder with shuddering force. “It’s great to have you-”

Shmi, with faux innocence, asked “What am I overdoing?” Luke wove his way to their visitor’s side, too impatient to be ignored by a new stranger, and proclaimed “I like your glasses.” Clearly this was the most exciting thing and no one else had bothered to mention it. 

“Oh- thank you.” Obi-Wan nodded, rather forgetting the frames on his face, which were not always there. Their bags still hung from his hands and sat at their feet- but with introductions out of the way a lull filled the air, a near palpable tension entirely foreign to such a usually cozy and carefree home. Like a great big exhale, but they had yet to collectively inhale and kickstart organic conversation, or even drop their greeting card poses. Padmé appropriately cleared her throat and Anakin tightened his lips to keep from laughing, because the same noise made Obi-Wan frown in a way that drew his eyebrows together. He tried to nudge Ahsoka, catching her eye and mouthing _see it_ , and now it was her turn to roll her eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

Shmi was not an unkind woman in any notion- which made it such a wonder that Anakin of all people was the (spoiled) fruit of her womb. She was not unkind, but the energy of their family was perpetually light, teasing openness. Always reciprocated volleys of jokes and jabs, from the first time their children met there’d been a ceaseless and unstoppable compatibility. And thankfully their relationship with their parents was just as open. 

With all that said, Shmi’s incredulous laugh - through shock and surprise alone - bordered on dismissive. “I’m not trying to be mean, honey, I just don’t really see why it’s  _ necessary _ —“

“Are you too scared to fuck in your childhood bedroom?” Anakin offered around a bite of a sandwich and Shmi glared at him. He once more sat atop the counter, his preferred place over a real chair. 

“Oh nice, Ani, that’s nice.” Padmé deadpanned before pointedly looking between both of them. “ _ No _ -” she cleared her throat and her eyes widened pleadingly, “I just— it didn’t feel appropriate.“

“It doesn’t feel appropriate to share a bed with your  _ boyfriend _ ?”

“Anakin-“ Shmi leveled and with shooing hands made him leave the kitchen. “Go clear your stuff out of your room-“

“Wait  _ my  _ room?! Why am I the one getting the couch just because we have to separate Mr. and Mrs. Perfect?” She said something Padmé could not hear as Anakin groaned and stomped up the stairs. Shmi followed right behind to make sure he actually did it. More faint, indecipherable squawking sounded from above, fainter and fainter still until an absence filled the air. 

In the now isolated kitchen, Obi-Wan reached over to take Padmé’s hand and come to her side. His face softened with a near constant sympathy, too clear eyes not hidden behind his glasses. They could bore into her soul, and her guilt, quite freely. “You don’t have to do all of this. I already agreed to play the part, I think kicking Anakin out of his room is hardly fair.”

Padmé let out a sigh and for the first time since returning home, didn’t seem to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders. Granted none of her family were in the room to see it, just Obi-Wan, her apparent confidant and partner in crime. The sigh was a habit even worse than the throat clearing— a brief moment of recognizing her overwhelming emotions before pulling that tight façade back on top. “I know but I’m already forcing my family on you, and now this whole dating thing— I didn’t want to make you sleep with me too.”

“Padmé—“

“Please,” she squeezed both her hands around one of his. If it hurt, he did not flinch. Rather, he softened more and she only tensed. “Don’t tell me I’m being completely ridiculous for any of this, alright?” If it were not for their hands anchoring them together, she would have drawn away, receding into herself in the most comfortable and protective of ways. 

But Obi-Wan had not come and agreed to this to allow her to isolate herself. Padmé deserved better than she let herself have— that much was always true. She was, in all ways, extraordinary. If she had one failing it was, he noticed just the same as her family, in more personal matters. Padmé lived with such passion, such determination for all things and though unfortunate, it was no wonder some detail got sidelined. Love— the romantic sort at least. In family and friendship she would never lack, but a partner, which he knew she wanted, always eluded her. Shmi was right (as per usual) that Padmé didn’t make time for dating, and Anakin was right (far more surprising) that when she did she often settled for sub par matches that failed to match her wit, charm, and excellence. 

Obi-Wan pressed a kiss to her temple as he stood from the table. Enough gentle affection colored their friendship that she, even in her discomfort, didn’t shy away. About an ounce of tension leaked from her shoulders. 

“Alright, just don’t expect to be getting any now.” One eyebrow raised in a familiar tease, rewarding him with something nearing a real laugh drawn from Padmé. “I’ll bring our bags upstairs to our  _ separate  _ quarters.” And finally she settled into a thankful look, though he did hear a distinct throat clearing as the doors swung shut behind him. 

“I didn’t expect I would be putting anyone out—“ Obi-Wan began apologetically at the sight of Anakin flinging things around his room to gather up clothes and such (which would all end up littered downstairs). 

“Me. You’re putting  _ me _ out.” Anakin glared, tugging a crumpled sweatshirt out of a laundry basket. 

Obi-Wan nodded sagely. “Yes, I see that.” He felt absurd, so out of place with his bag at his feet while Anakin made a whirlwind mess of his room. Shmi assured him all was well, even if Anakin was being a child about it, before she ducked back downstairs. It did not change the facts: Obi-Wan  _ was  _ putting Anakin out of his own room. And really how did that look? Surely a hundred times more suspicious that he and Padmé apparently wouldn’t share a bed. 

He tried to say something else, another apology carefully drafted in his head to ensure it let slip no hints at their charade. No clues whatsoever that he and Padmé weren’t sleeping together, weren’t even romantically involved in the slightest. A little voice popped up in the doorway and rendered his inner conflict obsolete. Leia stood there, all big dark eyes and inquisitively crossed arms. “Why aren’t you sleeping in Padmé’s room? She’s your friend isn't she?”

Anakin choked some irritated noise as Obi-Wan managed a smile. He made quite the performance out of hitting his pillows and Obi-Wan didn’t know if he was supposed to be making the bed or pulverizing it, only for Anakin to take a pillow off it for his own use. “Yes, she is my friend, we just—“

“Did you have a fight?” 

“No, of course not— Anakin,” he tried, eyes pleading with apology but instead his phone rang and shattered his already dumbfounded thoughts. 

Anakin hugged the pillow and his other belongings to his chest, “Come on, let’s give  _ Obi-Wan _ his privacy.” And he ushered his nosy sister back out the door, huffing and stomping just to trudge their way back downstairs. 

Obi-Wan paused, feeling once more an idiot - inhabiting his fake girlfriend’s brother’s childhood bedroom - before remembering his phone and only answering it on the last ring. Oh this was certainly not how he expected his holiday to go. 

-

There are families who have family meals and ones who happen to have meals as a family. The difference lies in engagement, entertainment, and real connection. The Jinn-Skywalker household was one of Family Everything. Family games, family movies, and  _ especially _ family meals. And Obi-Wan found this meant a lot of conversation, a lot of food, and a lot of laughing (made easier by healthy pours of wine and the promise of dessert). 

“We know it’s not very festive,” Qui-Gon excused with a warm smile, pulling paper plates down from a cabinet of disposable utensils. “But we really do the more seasonal things on Christmas Eve and the day of.” Anakin set down boxes of pizza on their kitchen table. So many boxes because so many mouths to feed. Not only that, but most of them shared a day of travel, Anakin with the worst go of it, and there’s a certain weariness that follows that. 

Obi-Wan gave a casual, winning smile and Anakin fought rolling his eyes. “Really even this is more celebration that I usually have this time of year.” It was that effortless charm, that politeness that wasn’t even posh that Anakin abhorred. His voice, his manners, all remained above reproach. Even worse was the way Shmi just melted for it. Padmé herself still looked ready for something to go disastrously but everyone else was perfectly at ease with someone Anakin quite clearly labeled an intruder to their holiday. 

Barriss tucked herself into Ahsoka’s side, all of them collectively migrating to the family room and settling wherever possible. “Me too,” she quipped, mostly for herself but Ahsoka snorted. 

“When can I get you a ‘baby’s first Christmas’ ornament?” Anakin asked her through a mouthful of pizza, forcing his way onto their loveseat absolutely not intended to fit all three of them. 

Ahsoka kicked him but Barriss laughed “It’s too late now.” 

With a wink he turned his attention away from them and stared at Obi-Wan “So how come you two didn’t say anything when I saw you a few months ago?”

Padmé forcefully swallowed, “What?”

Anakin shrugged, sitting back casual and smug, but perched only half on the seat, balanced on the arm. “I stayed with you for a weekend, Pads, the three of us had dinner and you never said anything.”

Obi-Wan’s smile was so gentle and appeasing- the opposite of Anakin’s calculating look. “I hope it didn’t give the impression that Padmé’s ashamed of me.”

“No. You just hardly struck me as a couple.” Anakin defended and elbowed Ahsoka so she would stop laughing. It did not help that Padmé and Obi-Wan sat in chairs drawn into just about the center of the room and Anakin glared like a film noir detective giving the third degree. 

Sabé, nestled on the couch with the twins snorted “And since when are you the relationship expert— Have you stopped using sand as a pickup line?” This earned her a wadded up napkin thrown at her face. It missed and just fell to her lap. 

“Not fair! And it wasn’t a pickup— that was  _ years _ ago!”

“One… two years ago?” Ahsoka monotoned and Sabé rolled her eyes “Not even.”

“Mom—“ Anakin whined, trying to appeal to Shmi for support but she laughed and from her place near Sabé, threw her son’s napkin back at him. 

“Anakin, my darling boy, you know I love you. But even I cannot change that you are  _ hopeless _ .”

He grumbled a  _ thanks _ into his wine glass and glared at Obi-Wan because clearly it was  _ his  _ fault and not his own for digging that hole. 

“So where did you meet Padmé?” Barriss asked, smoothly moving them past Anakin’s entirely uncivilized attempts at conversation. 

But this time Padmé answered, rattling off the whole story like a script (and it should be emphasized  _ whole _ story) of their introduction. “Hong Kong. Last spring— Well, actually, over on the Kowloon side, so not Hong Kong Island. Although we were both staying there— on Hong Kong Island, that is. Obi-Wan at the Grand Hyatt and I was at the Mandarin. But we were  _ introduced _ in the lobby of the Peninsula— That’s- That’s on Kowloon side.” They were all too familiar with her nerves to stop her. A glowing, powerful individual in all regards, Padmé’s greatest exception was her family. The one place she ever lost composure, felt a pressure of judgment that wasn’t really there. They listened attentively, even if Anakin cast glances at Ahsoka to try and say  _ see _ \- to prove his point that Obi-Wan and their dear sister were no match. If they were a match, then Padmé wouldn’t lose her cool. She would feel bolstered, relaxed, all the things and all the confidence so clearly lacking as she prattled on. 

“Anyway, I was there for this post-post-unification conference, and I had a meeting over at the Peninsula, and there I am, crossing the lobby, and who do I see, but Bail Organa.” She paused briefly at Luke’s not-quiet-enough “ _ who _ ?” cut off by Sabé giving some hurriedly whispered explanation. Padmé laughed lightly (better than throat clearing) “It’d been what— Seven, eight years? More? God, almost ten. Not since Andover— So there I am, catching up with Bail, and here comes Obi-Wan. Of course, I don’t know him, but Bail does— they got their masters’ together. And you hadn’t seen each other in, what was it— five years?” She half turned to him, looking so much more formal in their two dining chairs. Yet even then, Obi-Wan lounged in his while she sat rod straight, unnaturally so. He managed to open his mouth and half shrug before Padmé impatiently powered on. “ _ Anyway _ , the point is Obi was lost. Do you remember?” Anakin mouthed  _ Obi _ with a gleeful spark and Ahsoka made a dumb face back at him. 

“What?” he sort of choked.

“You were lost!” 

He half-laughed, wiping his hands on a napkin and staring at it longer than necessary. “I’m pretty sure I was pretending.”

Padmé looked at him entreatingly then back to her family, humor in her eyes and sparking her into a more excited recount. For the first time, they seemed like a natural pair, both of them humoring one another. Finally something was there between them, those qualities always lacking in her partners beginning to pick up. Maybe they did click, and maybe Padmé’s behavior was just anxiety, not an over compensation of sorts. “He was on his way to take some boat out to— What was the name of that place again?”

“Lantau. Lantau Island.”

“ _ Right _ . Some pilgrimage— on his way to see some Buddhist statue at some monastery.” There was a little hesitation in her voice, and Obi-Wan picked up so naturally.

“In fact, it’s one of the largest metal Buddhas in the world.” The crease between his brows disappeared. His smile captivated. Without his glasses making his face severe and business like, the enthusiasm of his eyes glittered unobstructed to reel the family in. Utterly contagious. “It’s over three stories tall. You can stay at this monastery, actually share meals with the monks. But they’ve taken a vow of silence.”

“A vow of what?” Anakin asked before taking a bite of pizza. Obi-Wan’s lip quirked and anything else he was going to say evaporated. “Your tie is crooked.” He added around his mouthful.

Qui-Gon nodded sagely, ignoring the indecency of his son and whatever moment strung itself between the two of them, “That sounds incredible. How long were you there?”

A worried, pitying look marred Padmé’s face. “Well, he never made it, of course. One thing led to another, Bail suggested lunch and we all got to talking.” Something unsure sprouted up in her words and they all half expected her to clear her throat and try to make up for what was lost in her composure. She smiled, tight on her usually soft features.

Sabé, extending an olive branch to whatever made Padmé falter, asked “Obi-Wan, what did you two talk about?”

He too hesitated and gave a dry chuckle, “Oh, well you know I don’t- I don’t quite remember.”

Padmé clearly did, and not because the details were exciting but just to keep the story rolling she eagerly continued, “Oh, please! Of course you remember! See, Obi-Wan was there on business, working out their position for the IPO. Well, of course, that’s what I do-” Which required no explanation to her family, who nodded and shook their heads with a universal understanding. Though Anakin did get a disbelieving “Really?” in before she continued. 

“Anyway, s-so, lunch led to drinks, which led to dinner. Bail took off, and— and um, really that’s how Obi-Wan and I spent our first night together” Sabé blew a low whistle and Padmé shook her head, “No, it was just...me just putting in my two cents, going over that report. I just showed Obi-Wan a few things that need to be done.”

They could all see him reach out, and his hand found hers. They sat right there for all to behold, though Anakin watched baffled. Together they were so refined. A real affection threaded between them, that much was true, but as a couple— he couldn’t fathom  _ this  _ being the rest of Padmé’s life. Some corporate romance that made her so nervous she could only talk about their relationship in one big gush or not at all, even to her family. 

Yet even then, Obi-Wan anchored her. She breathed easier under his touch, her smile softened, and he nodded with adoration rolling off of him. “Padmé was a real help. I- to be entirely honest am horrible at it, finance sector and all of it.”

Qui-Gon cleared his throat (completely different from the way nervous Padmé did it- for the family father it drew attention and held sincerity, it wasn’t just to fill silence) and asked “But you do still work in the same field as Padmé?” 

Obi-Wan nodded, looking less like someone who just admitted he hates his job, “Yes. I’ve considered taking some time but— there’s always something.”

Padmé frowned - clearly it was news to her and no one missed the disconnect. A moment before they wove into the ideal couple and now a rift tore in the fabric. Splitting at the seams: dishonesty, Obi-Wan’s discontent and Padmé’s resurfacing nerves. “Really-“ he continued, “this is the first I’ve taken any time for myself in a while. My family was never particularly festive but, when Padmé asked me here-“ he cast her a smile but it could not rebuild the divide. Or perhaps it was all wishful thinking on Anakin’s part: a blip in an otherwise smooth relationship.

“Oh?”

He shrugged, “It never feels quite like a family affair— yes, we’ll have the tree and presents but it doesn’t  _ feel _ … It's certainly no comparison to your home. My own family. They’re very…” he hesitated and looked very much like a person trying to say something bad but put it nicely. So far he was failing. “ _ Uninterested _ in much outside of business.”

“What a shame,” Qui-Gon said with gentle finality. Then with a conspiratorial tone, he added “I hope you find us much more lenient.”

“Yeah,” Ahsoka chimed in, “clearly there’s low expectations here, or else Anakin would have been disowned.”

“And you!” 

“Point is,” she dismissed, “you’re dating the most accomplished one of us here, and the only one who might give her competition is Leia. But don’t think that’s the standard.”

“Noted,” Obi-Wan feigned sincerity and for a moment the crease between his brows vanished once more. Amazing how such a little thing reflected all the weight of his stress so easily. “I will count myself even more lucky then.”

“We were  _ both  _ lucky,” Padmé smiled, but the appreciation in her look referred to something more subtle, counting herself thankful for him even in this simple moment. “Just in the right place at the right time and, you know, eventually brought us to this.”

Anakin leaned towards Luke and said faux-sagely (in a very good imitation of their father) “Destiny.”

“Destiny,” the young boy repeated, flopping over the side of the couch and nodding with the same whispered sincerity.

But always looking to make problems, Anakin piped up again, “We should play a game.” And it met instantly with Luke’s excitement. 

“You kids can go ahead,” Shmi heaved a weary sigh, and her eyes filled with a bittersweet emotion. Something subtle, at the sight of all of them gathered around, and herself now too tired to stay up. “There’s a lot to do tomorrow so I think I’ll call it an early night.”

“Let’s not do anything too serious,” Padmé pleaded and Ahsoka enthusiastically agreed, “Yeah, no Trivial Pursuit!”

“Charades!” Luke and Leia cheered (after plotting in hushed tones) and no one opposed it so their little party moved from sprawling to cleaning up and making a nice space. They carved a cozy semi circle, scooting the chairs back into the dining room. Leia directed everyone to the ideal places. They decided Padmé would begin, so she hopped up and read her little slip of paper.

Anakin almost jolted with the low tone of Obi-Wan’s voice. They’d all moved about, and now he sat at the edge of the couch and Obi-Wan on the floor. He leaned against the side of it, lounging quite easily, and moved with such a comfort that Anakin didn’t notice until there was the smooth tenor of his voice. There was something soft to it, only loud enough for Anakin’s attention while the others hollered out guesses. At the half jump, Obi-Wan extended a hand so his fingers just brushed Anakin’s knee to keep from startling him again. His lip even quirked with private amusement before asking “Do you always play games like this?”

Anakin felt it an insignificant question. Padmé still stood there emphatically repeating there were four words to her charade. “Uh- yeah, usually.” Anakin nodded, and pressed into the arm of the couch. It made them that much closer. Of course that wasn’t why he shifted, no it was only so he could drop into his own low tone and not let this little interruption annoy anyone else. “Games have always been easy growing up, even if we can be a bit… competitive.”

“Don’t worry,” Obi-Wan, his smile grew all the more endeared before he started to lean away. Anakin frowned. “I’ve already learned that much from Padmé.” 

They both looked at her, she mimed pulling something over her head. Barriss said “Bride!” at the same moment Ahsoka said “Beekeeper!” Padmé rolled her eyes and pointed at Barriss. “Alright, second word-” and they continued. 

Anakin, too baffled by Obi-Wan’s attention, didn’t take the time to soak up the change in his sister. Obi-Wan could watch her with all the hope in the world nestled into his head, wanting better for her then nerve-wracked reunions that required such a ruse as himself. Wouldn’t it be so much better if in place of him, in place of Padmé’s need to prove herself, there was real love— real comfort? What he could provide as a friend wasn’t the same, if it were she would never have lied to her family in the first place. No, without a doubt Padmé deserved more. On top of that, she  _ wanted  _ more. He knew that too. She didn’t grow up with a nuclear family and never longed for the idea of one, but that never made her less of a romantic at heart. 

Obi-Wan tilted his head back— an astounding ease at which he so singularly redirected his attention to just Anakin. “I may need your help with something.” Anakin still frowned, and that contagious look of concentration folded a crease between his brows. The heavy swallow of his drink surely came from annoyance and no other stirring feeling. 

Far more accusatory than the situation really allowed, Anakin (proud of himself for mustering up any disdain) huffed, “Why  _ my _ help? And what on earth with?” The man arrived so high and mighty, took Anakin’s room and won over everyone already so why on earth would Anakin ever want to help him?

“A small matter,” Obi-Wan dismissed, “let’s call it a gift for Padmé.” Clearly he held no qualms confiding in Anakin, but revealing details remained off limits. 

“Aren’t you completely competent on your own?”

“Oh yes, but some things are best done with a partner,” and Anakin swore Obi-Wan  _ winked _ as he turned back in time to see Padmé’s delighted and relieved expression when Barriss said “The Bride Wore Black!”


	3. Chapter 3

Anakin just wanted one moment— one peaceful, easy, normal and carefree morning moment. And really, wasn’t that reasonable? Isn’t it perfectly  _ average _ to desire waking up, in your own bed, in your home, during the holidays, then going to enjoy coffee, cereal, and whatever else on your own terms, with no interruptions? He managed it every year quite successfully, but no. Not this time. 

No because this time, he didn’t even get his own bed, so the base already lay far below ideal. Christmas Eve, staying with his family— everything  _ should _ have been normal, even waking up from the couch and not the comfort of his bed. A normal morning: the sun bright and reflecting off the snow, the house filled with its usual smell of brewing coffee and subtler notes of cinnamon, and knowing the day could be filled with watching holiday movies and pestering everyone else in the family who actually had things to be doing. But his first sight in the kitchen was  _ not _ the lovely sight of his mother at her desk, going over recipes she knew by heart anyway, but Obi-Wan laying things out on the kitchen island. 

“What’s this?” He grumbled, more annoyed than interested as he wove around this invasion to his home to grab a mug, and he directed the question more at Shmi than at the man. Could he not have one decent thing? 

“Well, we have dinner all planned and Obi-Wan wanted to contribute something, so he’s offered to make breakfast for us all. Isn’t that nice?” Not only did she genuinely believe it, but her tone warned Anakin off any nastiness of his own. 

He made a half committed noise. Anakin cupped the mug in his hands and knew as soon as he set the ceramic down his palms would ache for missing the warmth. His first too quick sip burned his tongue, but he swallowed it down unbothered. “And where has Padmé gone?”

“She’s out with Ahsoka, they had some last minute errands to run.” Shmi waved a hand and looked back to her recipes, leaving Anakin to watch the way Obi-Wan methodically sliced onions and set them aside. He wrinkled his nose a little, bothered by the offending meal preparation ruining his ideal morning and cozy coffee smell. Even held right under his nostrils the onion and vegetable smells overpowered the roast. 

Obi-Wan moved naturally, like this was his own home. He slid the onion strips into a bowl and Anakin did not stare at his sure but relaxed grip on the knife, or on the bowl, or any of the other ways his hands moved with confidence. He considered it an effect of the onions, the way Obi-Wan’s face squinted and creased up for half a moment before he let out a little sigh, much more like he was gearing up for something grand. Anakin mentally prepared himself and took another scalding sip. 

“I noticed your cards up in the hallway.” Shmi smiled with obvious appreciation. She always tacked up the Christmas cards they received in this great festive collage. An ever expansive collection of an old tradition; Anakin often wondered how many strangers and old friends kept it up just for the sake of women like Shmi who would be heartbroken if the festivity ever ended. “You get one from Satine?”

“Oh, yes!” Shmi abandoned all pretense of remaining interested in her recipes. “I completely forgot! Padmé mentioned you knew one another— it really is a small world isn’t it?” She sighed wistfully, always the first to lapse into the sweet haze of nostalgia. “Qui-Gon knew the Kryzes long before we’d ever met— Satine and Padmé were thick as thieves in college! A shame… she really is such a dear and I hated the idea something happened between them.” Anakin raised an eyebrow, impressed but hardly surprised that his mother would so openly meddle to Padmé’s boyfriend of all people. Mentioning an old friend was one thing, but  _ Satine _ was another. She always struck a chord with Shmi— 

But then he had to wonder if Obi-Wan was just oblivious, or stupid, or  _ something _ because looking up from slicing tomatoes he grinned— and it was this dazzling thing that showed all his teeth and made Anakin’s stomach swoop with what was certainly unease and not any other feelings— “Well see, that’s just it. Her sister was caught up in something for work and so her parents decided they wanted to run off and spend the holiday overseas. Some great romantic vacation in Paris, I believe— And really, Satine is quite independent but—”

“Oh don’t say she’s spending Christmas alone!”

Anakin stared in awe. They chattered like two rehearsed partners in crime, weirdly rooting for someone to come in and ruin the Obi-Wan and Padmé wonder relationship. Was it too early? Was he dreaming? Because surely Obi-Wan wasn’t—

“I’m not sure  _ what _ her plans are, but I know she’s not still in New York— she  _ may _ have gotten to Bedford—“

“You know what,” Shmi started standing, flapping her hands to reassure neither Obi-Wan nor Anakin to bother themselves. Not like Anakin was going to anyway. “I’ll give her a call— say it would be  _ lovely _ to see her again and of course she’s welcome to join us. Oh! And I can let Padmé and Ahsoka know, they could even pick her up from the bus station.” And Anakin couldn’t help but think  _ how convenient _ but also, simultaneously,  _ what just happened? _

Shmi ducked out of the kitchen and Obi-Wan flashed Anakin a conspiratorial grin before looking back at— well whatever the hell it was he was making. Tomatoes, onions, olives, bread, a carton of eggs not in use yet, three varieties of cheese— Anakin frowned.

“What are you doing?” Even he didn’t know if the question aimed at the dish or whatever plot with Satine Obi-Wan cooked up. 

“It’s uh-” he looked a little sheepish again— far too genuinely humble for Anakin’s liking. “It’s strata. It’s nothing special really, but it’s sort of a Christmas morning tradition for me.”

“I thought you didn’t have traditions.” His coffee burned less now, but there was still a heat on his tongue and none of his hurried mouthfuls helped the odd dryness of his throat. Besides, he preferred it with cream but didn’t feel like crossing the kitchen to get it, since it meant scooting around Obi-Wan again. 

Obi-Wan’s laugh mixed with that sort of pitying quality once more. It clearly wasn’t for lack of confidence, but like this casual, lighthearted charisma— “No, not  _ family _ traditions. But I do have experience sharing the holiday among friends. As the only early riser, I’m naturally suited to being in charge of breakfast.” Anakin could see it all too easily, Obi-Wan toiling away in the homes of friends, baking and stirring up eggs - exactly as he was now - and generally being a balm to groggy friends not accustomed to morning excitement. Just as Anakin wasn’t.

“I had a dream about you.” He stated blandly, as unimportant as if he commented on the weather, or his coffee. Then he paused, wanting the statement to unsettle the guest. Clearly it was Obi-Wan’s fault for invading not only his bed, but his dreams too. With the same bitterness he asked “Did  _ you _ sleep well?”

Obi-Wan’s face creased, as though not sure which thought to follow, “I’m very sorry about you sleeping on the couch last night. I would gladly trade places—” 

“Don’t sweat it.”

A beat passed and though he looked elsewhere, Anakin heard the distinct sound of a knife placed down a little too hard. “I wish you would give me a chance, whatever it is I did wrong—”

“I said don’t sweat it.” His sour expression was poorly concealed behind the lip of his mug. His mind, slowly dragging into full consciousness, caught up with Obi-Wan’s inquiry from last night. No longer sitting in the midst of a game of charades, he could actually ask about it. “This- this breakfast thing- that wasn’t what you wanted help with, right?”

Obi-Wan shook his head, but his smile reappeared. “No, I thought getting your mother to agree to Satine would take some more convincing.” 

His mood did not infect, and Anakin frowned. Something unsettled him, not quite about Satine, or even about Obi-Wan, but about this idea. Of course she was entirely welcome, but years passed since she last came to visit, so to come now at the beck and call of not Padmé, but this Shmi and Obi-Wan tag team struck him warily. With a calculated thought, Anakin answered, “Oh no, Mom  _ loves _ Satine. I mean, when they met Mom instantly considered her like a daughter— even a daughter-in-law.” Heavy handed, sure, but he felt it absolutely crucial to get his point across. “But usually Padmé was the one visiting theirs and not the other way around. And now like- well  _ you  _ know how Pads is, sort of lost touch with all sorts of people because she only cares about work. But  _ Satine _ ? Mom  _ loves _ her.” Anakin swirled his mug a little. Padmé had a tendency to be absolutely all-in with everything she did. It was part of what made her so strong, her unyielding passion for everything. Not like Anakin understood it, her head for business or politics or all sorts of things. And really, he always hoped to see her pour that spark into something a little more mild, something she carried a personal interest in too. The corporate world wasn’t right for her. He couldn’t tell how it held any appeal for Obi-Wan either, but that wasn’t his problem. 

For Padmé, Satine was always this reprieve. She rushed into her work and messy relationships and never gave any real time or attention to herself, and then that chaos would part and there stood Satine- caring for her and loving her. Of course, Padmé denied there was anything between them every time the family teased, no,  _ hoped _ for more. They would have been good for one another. It was what Padmé deserved. But it was off limits in conversation, forbidden through Padmé’s unsubtle cues to never discuss it. And then they drifted, so from then until now, the name Satine Kryze went unuttered in their home. 

Besides, apparently Padmé’s chosen one was  _ Obi-Wan _ . Still, she couldn’t seem more off balance. With every moment she teetered more on edge and really, there was no getting over not even sleeping in the same room! (And of course, the very significant detail of displacing Anakin in the process— an unforgivable affront.)

That’s what he was waiting for— that crack in her facade to grow, for anyone else in the family to admit it because sure— even Anakin would  _ very  _ hesitantly confess that Obi-Wan was a fine individual. But for Padmé? There was nothing wrong with him, but there was something wrong with  _ him  _ and Padmé  _ together.  _ Anakin couldn’t put his finger on the problem, but it was a thread he followed diligently, with Nancy Drew intensity.

Swallowing, he took a sharp breath in and out through his nose, exasperation flowing out of him in a huff, replaced with a strained smile, “Mom always thought Satine was the solution to everything- apparently Padmé thinks differently.”

“What do you mean?” Anakin watched Obi-Wan avoid looking at him, crease line above his nose as he started cracking eggs into a bowl. 

Anakin pushed off the counter. While his room was free he did want to run up and grab somethings without more intrusion by Obi-Wan. “I mean that  _ clearly _ , she thinks you’re the solution. I can’t see why though.” He left the kitchen, the swing door opening silently and his light footsteps and pointed slurp of coffee not covering the frustrated clatter of another utensil set down a little too indelicately. 

-

“So she didn’t tell you?”

“No!” Padmé hissed rather sharply, unintentionally sucking a very cold breath into her lungs. “I had no idea until Mom called and  _ spilled all _ !”

Ahsoka crossed her arms and though her brows flattened, one side of her lips did quirk in amusement. Padmé— so panic stricken. The both of them were near dead on their feet from waking up early and running into town and fighting the Christmas Eve mob in every store they entered. Relief overwhelmed them both when Ahsoka declared that  _ yes _ she had everything she needed and they could finally go back home— and then Padmé’s phone rang with a kindly request from their mother to meet a dear friend at the bus station. And Shmi, sometimes the most dramatic one out of the whole family (quite the title to earn), waited until just before hanging up to say “Oh, it will be lovely to see Satine again!” leaving her daughter to sputter  _ Satine?? _ to a dead line. 

“You could at least pretend to be excited—“

“I  _ am _ excited,” which had all the convincing power of Obi-Wan’s assertion that he wasn’t nervous, or even Padmé’s own promise of the same thing. Her face softened with a self aware desperation. She needed to breathe, to calm down, because at this point the little reunion was unavoidable. She hopped between her feet for warmth and both their breaths came out in puffs of white. Ahsoka tugged her pointed hat lower on her head. Signing was difficult with their shaking and gloved hands, but their frigid urgency made their conversation look all the more aggressive to any passerby. “It’s just—“ she waved a hand in a  _ whatever _ motion. They could both see the great clouds of exhaust and snow as the bus rumbled towards them. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen her and I’ve sort of been afraid she hates me.”

Ahsoka’s eyes widened, “ _ Hates you _ ? You guys spent every minute together for years! Even if you drifted, you two had a bond.”

“Well  _ yes—“ _ The bus clunked and shrieked to a halt and Padmé sped up her answer.  _ Had _ \- the party tense of it being the important bit. “But  _ I _ was the one that drifted. I just let her go.”

There were other thoughts there:  _ Didn’t stay, Didn’t support her _ /— but they were ones Padmé swallowed down.

The bus door opened with the same sort of grinding hiss gloriously unique to public transportation. 

And so, in that cloud of cold and exhaust, it dawned on Ahsoka the very thing Padmé would not admit. All the nervousness of the past day clicked into place, fitting too well with Anakin’s insistence something didn’t mesh between Padmé and Obi-Wan. Worst case scenario: Anakin was right all along. And if she planned to keep up this relationship, set herself  _ more _ on edge - as if her current anxiety and throat clearing and flighty panic weren’t enough - it spelled disaster for everyone. 

From Ahsoka’s memory, when she was younger and cared much less, Satine carried this aura- quite similar yet notably different from Padmé. She came across as serious but with such a royal air. A real take no shit attitude. Ahsoka admired her for it. 

Satine dazzled no less after all that time. Standing at the top steps of the bus, she appeared immaculate, not a hair out of place, her coat crisp, like some goddess sculpted from the crispness of the air. If there was any comparison between these two sides to Padmé’s affection, they were sun and moon. Where Obi-Wan smiled with the warm comfort of sweaters and lazy sunlight, Satine shone like all the stars in the sky, a subtlety to her cool friendliness. Even Padmé stood in awe of her old friend, both of them gaping, struck like fools. The moment could have strung out for eternity, with nothing but the three of them- and Ahsoka, really a hanger on at that, of something more intimate and discreet. Galaxies could have waged war and fallen to ruin in all that time— but really only seconds passed then the illusion shattered when Satine shoved forward and tumbled to the ground 

A chorus of undignified noises rose up- shocks of surprise and hurt and all of them asking if she was alright. 

“I’m fine, really—“ her honeyed accent relayed sincerely, even though she winced trying to stand back up. Asphalt grit visibly embedded in her palms. She’s fallen the last two bus steps and the gap between it and the ground- so quite a ways to go. 

“I’m so sorry miss— I didn’t see you!” Bumbled a tall, gangly man bedecked in layers of orange sweaters and jackets. “Here, I can—“ he tried to offer assistance but slipped on an icy patch of concrete. 

“It’s alright.“ Satine insisted, brushing loosened strands of hair from her face and even lending a hand to her now fallen assailant. Ahsoka noticed Padmé looked flushed and furious but also helpless. With curiosity she helped the porter get Satine’s bags, led them away from such a mess, and certainly didn’t miss Padmé’s hushed questions. For every unclear whispered concern, Satine’s assurances rose up again. And even though Ahsoka couldn’t make out what they said, Padmé’s tense line to her shoulders made things obvious enough. This was doting, concerned Padmé, the same one always rushing to the rescue and soothing childhood injuries, consoling Anakin or helping the twins through nightmares. 

Ahsoka slipped into the driver’s seat after loading the trunk, packed with shopping bags and now Satine’s luggage too. And their new guest still gave flustered guarantees of “Yes, I’m alright,” as she buckled and Padmé finally took her eyes off her to get in the car. Ahsoka shot her sister a look, eyebrow quirked and Padmé signed a hasty, defensive  _ what _ before looking at the road (her throat went strangely uncleared the whole dilemma.)

-

“I promise- I’m fine! That’s what I’ve been telling Padmé this whole time, it was really just a little stumble, a complete accident!”

“Dear, your hands are all scraped up— Anakin go grab that first aid kit-“ Shmi waved a hand in the general direction of it, as if her son needed guiding. 

The second the three of them came in the house, the family was a cooing and cautious (but no less overwhelming) mob. The (tiny— insignificant, really) incident was quickly explained but still all of them - Qui-Gon, Shmi, Sabé, the twins - hovered and begged her to let them help. They sat her down at the kitchen table and Shmi assessed the damages, and Satine whose composure was never lost, flailed for security in a family that provided no harbor. They pressed ahead and did not give her a choice, as she looked imploringly at Obi-Wan - her supposed guest in arms - who did nothing to stop the barrage. 

Ahsoka popped up from her place in the crowd and scooted past them, following Anakin out of the kitchen. “Can’t believe she just  _ fell— _ “ he started to half laugh but Ahsoka shook her head. The whole outing gave her a new purpose, a curiosity that Anakin of all people, given his crusade against Obi-Wan, should understand. 

“Things with Padmé...“ she signed it like a question and gave a provocative waggle of her brows. 

“You lost me, Snips.”

She punched his shoulder for the old nickname. “ _ Satine _ . You should have seen her face when she stepped off the bus—  _ before _ falling. Padmé hasn’t stopped fussing the  _ entire time _ .”

Anakin rolled his eyes and crouched down to grab the old kit from under their bathroom sink. “Yeah she’s been acting weird— I freaking told you this two days ago!” 

“No! Not like nervous, she never even-“ she crudely motioned to her throat and widened her eyes more to get her point across “Not once!”

“She and Satine were always real close—“

“Oh my god do not make me spell it out for you, Skyguy—“

“Wait.” Anakin stopped, staring at Ahsoka with a shock that finally matched hers. Two sets of wide eyes staring at each other with equal budding excitement in the cramped confines of their kitchen bathroom. “You think Padmé has the hots for Satine? Yeah we all had our jokes about it but she made it clear: that idea was off the table.”

She shrugged noncommittally “I don’t know! Maybe?! But  _ god _ Anakin she was looking at her like she’d hung the stars and  _ yeah— _ I remember how they were years ago. But Padmé talked about it like they had some falling out...” Because really Ahsoka didn’t know what  _ precisely  _ to make of any of it. They both knew Padmé, and loved her immensely. But she had a way of trying to avoid her own personal issues. 

Shmi yelled out, and Ahsoka made a strained face for all the things left unsaid. Anakin patted her arm and ducked back to the kitchen. 

“—no need for that.” Shmi’s voice welcomed them as the door swung open and they received the welcome sight of still a crowd around the table, and more importantly around Satine. She beckoned her son over and took the kit. “I’d hate to have you come all that way here just to stay in a hotel. Ahsoka-“

“I’ve got Barriss!”

“What about Padmé’s?” Obi-Wan offered. He stood by silently during the whole ordeal, and now smiled so politely. The matter of where Satine would sleep needed settling, and if his eyes sparkled with scheming, it was only for Padmé to notice. 

Anakin's eyes narrowed for this, much like the morning conversation, was very convenient. He leaned over the island, the only other person besides Obi-Wan staying away from all the action. Propping his chin on his hand, he mused “Yeah, the bed’s wide open since you two lovebirds aren’t sleeping together.” His voice dripped with bitter lament for his own room sacrificed to their guest. 

Satine’s mouth opened then closed with a confused flutter before she asked, “Why would—“

But Obi-Wan cut her off with that winning smile and “Is your bag still in the car?”

Always working in tandem, Shmi nodded, “Yes, you go get that, and Padmé, dear, go ahead and bring Satine up.” Something like fear flashed on her daughter’s face before glossing over with a tight smile. There was no questioning Shmi, and besides, Satine came here to stay. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter with ✨internalized homophobia so please just be aware. That and awkward dinner conversations :)

“Why am I even _here_?” Satine implored, really she begged- which she never did. Her eyes like saucers stared down Obi-Wan and the tight frown across her face would put off a normal person. But Obi-Wan was a man on a delusional mission which won out against Satine’s sensibilities. She waved a hand, motioned to Padmé’s bedroom and childhood things spread about them. Both were guests, and the details of this life and this family did not include them, no matter how inviting Shmi’s open arms. Satine felt herself an intruder, which spelled Obi-Wan out as an impostor. 

“Because,” he approached cautiously and set his hands on her shoulders. She wasn’t one to shudder at a touch, but even then the contact was more than she expected. She rolled her shoulders into it, forcefully willing herself to loosen up. “ _I_ invited you. Not that it took a lot of convincing- Shmi would have fought tooth and nail to get you here.”

Satine grabbed her suitcase and pulled it between them before swinging it onto the bed. Obi-Wan stepped back as she unzipped and on a dignified huff, got to unpacking. “Padmé and I hardly talk anymore, it feels entirely inappropriate-“

He heard the echo of Padmé saying the same about the idea of them sharing a room- _entirely inappropriate_ . “Hardly talk?” He surveyed a string of awards hung up on one wall with only mild interest before rounding on his target, “Then Satine, _how_ could you hope to win her?” His grin stretched into something shit-eating that she equally loathed and admired. It was perfectly Obi-Wan, but it stirred up not resentful and reluctant acceptance, but fear. He meant well, she knew that. 

Guilt flashed on her face- a particular self loathing and restraint that he recognized all the same, and briefly Obi-Wan considered this a very large, very risky mistake. 

She slapped the top of her suitcase shut again, but the hard fabric did little for her theatrics. It’s thumping close fell rather flat. “I won’t be part of your little plan. You know I prefer to stay out of things.” Which received a well earned eye roll that she ignored. “Besides,” she fixed him with an especially cornering look, “Even if I were interested, how am I supposed to get anywhere if she’s dating _you_?” Which really wasn’t her way of admitting interest at all. No, instead of that she made light of even the idea just to jab at Obi-Wan’s own predicament. 

He cringed, shaking his head. Satine watched smugly. With uncomfortable consideration, he stroked his beard and admitted, “You may have a point there.” 

“Obi-“

Though kind, his face grew serious. “Trust me- if anyone knows how ridiculous this is, it’s me. But we both know Padmé and I think it’s far from a stretch to say we would both do anything for her.”

Satine’s face dropped, and for a second she stared at her hands- the scrapes on them made clean and deeper ones bandaged by Shmi’s fine, if overbearing care. She couldn’t hold a grudge against the family when all they showed her was affection. Even with her own unsettled feelings curled up in the pit of her stomach, she couldn’t rationalize taking it out on them. If she ever did, she’d only hate herself more for it, for projecting at them things for which they carried no blame. “No, it’s not a stretch. But _dating?_ ”

“Not my idea, I assure you.” Obi-Wan sighed. Even for the great privilege of indoor heating, a certain amount of chill crept into the house. A comfortable amount, to justify remaining bundled up. He crossed his arms in defense against it, and perhaps a sprinkling of niggling doubt. 

“I believe she’ll be more comfortable now you're here, and the details of our little ruse will-“ he waved a hand, offered a hopeful smile, “blow over. Satine, I invited you here because you deserve a good holiday- genuinely that was my only intention. I should have warned you—“ and really _Padmé_ should have warned _him_ before the last minute as well. He only carried out the pattern she began. “Really it doesn’t change anything. She just wanted to keep them from bothering her about things and… well I’m an easy target. I didn’t lure you here to complicate things. And—” he paused. The next words - his next _real_ words - must go unsaid, because even if he were brave enough to say them, he did not trust Satine was brave enough to hear them. No one else would ever hold a flame to her in Padmé’s eyes. That was the simple truth. Even if neither one could admit it, even if Satine wrestled her own demons only to shove them deeper down with each encounter, that truth remained. 

So instead he smiled, and his genuine comfort beamed out his eyes. For once Satine relaxed (if only a fraction) on her own. “Padmé needs this, _you_ need this, and _I_ am just here to make strata.”

Satine’s lips pursed, then flattened. She wanted to enjoy her holiday as much as he wanted her too, but he was rooting for the particular happiness and enjoyment she derived from basking in Padmé’s company. Meddling didn’t suit him, but unfortunately it did suit Padmé’s family. Satine chastened, “You, Obi-Wan Kenobi, are a collection of half truths.”

“You’re too kind.”

“I really am.” Humor finally surfaced in her voice and in a mock of his crossed pose she questioned, “Now, what’s with Anakin? Still reigning as the mean one of the family, I see. Interestingly he’s quite set against you.” Was this how he sounded? Deluded surely, with her cocked eyebrow and swaggering tone hinting at a one sided rivalry even Obi-Wan couldn’t wrap his head around. 

“We are not getting into it.”

“So there _is_ something to get into?”

“No,” he leveled and swore she beamed with glee. “Sleeping arrangements have put him out but aside from that I have no clue what I did wrong.”

She hummed a suspicious and noncommittal noise that made him frown. Mental sirens screamed this was quite absurd. How was he to justify the ire of Anakin Skywalker? “It’s hardly worth discussing, since you know him better than I do.” Which awarded him an even less reassuring look. 

“So let’s drop it.” He jerked his body upright and broke his frown into a grin with that perpetually conspiratorial charm about it. How she loathed him sometimes. “Fantastic— Now, I’ve promised the little ones I’ll help them bake, and apparently there’s a lot of work to be done.”

-

“No.” Leia put her hands firmly on her hips and stared down her older brother. 

“You’re letting Obi-Wan and Satine help—“

“Because they’re _helpful_ .“ She raised an eyebrow pointedly and _oh_ he knew she’d picked that up from Padmé. Leia could be an absolute tyrant and if it weren’t so endearing— She had their two guests sitting and rolling out dough, Satine with the utmost focus and Obi-Wan letting Luke distract him into making fun shapes instead of precise ones. “Last year you dyed the snickerdoodles _red_.”

“ _Luke_ dyed them—“

“I did not!” The boy’s head shot up from across the room. He stood tucked between Obi-Wan’s arms and the older man certainly _wasn’t_ doing all the work in flattening a great slab of cookie dough. Luke’s eyes sparkled mischievously, knowing whatever Anakin said, Leia wouldn’t believe him. 

“ _If_ you stay,“ her emphasis on _if_ couldn’t have been strong enough. She pointed a finger accusingly, “It’s only so you can help with the hot stuff.” She then pointed at the stove, at chocolate that needed melting and clearly intended for him to man the oven as well. Of course- the only thing he was useful for was being the one getting burned instead of her. Anyways— he sighed, and nodded dejectedly. He’d still do it without question. Leia beamed, “Then _you_ get to make the peppermint bark.” And she started pushing everything he needed to one side of the counter. She didn’t even like peppermint. 

Anakin made an affirmative noise and stationed himself at the stove to start melting chocolate. He tried his best to be a pitiful sight- but Leia had no sympathy regardless. 

“Wait— how many gingerbread men do we need?” Obi-Wan asked, staring at the punched out sheet of dough where Luke haphazardly used the cutter to set apart the little men. 

“There has to be one for everyone! We decorate those and _then_ we can make as many as we want!” And Luke slammed the cutter down again on a section of dough not quite big enough. 

“Oh, yes- well, looks like that one’s lost his arms and legs.” Obi-Wan said woefully and watched Luke still set the poor shape aside to confirm they were keeping him. Then, looking at the rest of the dough— well there was enough for a gingerbread army. Satine’s work came along much nicer, with her little cloned men lined up on two trays ready to go, and even earned Leia’s seal of approval before she commanded Anakin stick the next batch in the oven. 

Shmi stepped through the swinging doors, body wrapped in a knit shawl and looking much cozier than the occupants of her hectic kitchen. “How are things coming along?” She peered at the table and knew better to intrude in Leia’s workshop. Sabé, creeping in right behind her, did not, and gladly joined the cluster around the table. 

“We can decorate the first ones now!” Leia cheered. Satine, and now Sabé, helped clear a space on the table and Leia pulled out an abundance of icing and sprinkles that even Anakin didn’t know they owned. Shmi, with her content little smile, ducked back out unnoticed. The twins spent all their time stuck with just their two unfortunately aging parents, all their siblings older and gone off to do their own things, so she quite gladly stepped aside to let them enjoy fresh company. Besides, she could hear their excited squeals and laughter anywhere in the house. 

Obi-Wan patted Luke’s side and let the little boy wiggle out from under his arms— while Obi-Wan’s hands were remarkably clean, Luke was covered in bits of dough and flour powdered on his cheeks (and likely in his hair too). Leia, who he wrongly assumed would not be distracted from her very focused piping work, shot her head up and glared at him in his little attempt to sneak off. “Where are you going?”

“I was only going to help Anakin, all alone at the stove over there.” He answered with a guilty but saccharine smile that he entirely failed to suppress. Leia jerked an approving nod; they could manage just fine on their own. Her fleeting sense of betrayal flashed out of her head that quickly, and she moved on to correcting Sabé on her decorating technique. 

Anakin’s hand stilled in its very important duty and ceased stirring. “I don’t need help,” he frowned, brows drawn severely together. Surely there were plenty of gingerbread to decorate and even with four people already at the table, Obi-Wan could find a way to occupy his time over there. 

So innocently though, he asked, “Then who is going to crush the mints?” And sure, they were still stacked, wrapped, and completely uncrushed— entirely unsuited to making bark with. 

“I have plenty of time to do that.” Anakin glowered back at his bowl of melting white chocolate and stirred much more petulantly. 

“Yes, but I’m offering.”

And perhaps, since Anakin was already charged with all oven duties as well, and the first layer of bark needed to come out any second before it set too much, and he’s still needed at the stove with this layer, _perhaps_ Obi-Wan _might_ prove helpful. Only perhaps, so he did not dignify vocalizing his permission. He just frowned more and did not stop Obi-Wan when he did, of course, start helping. 

From the table, Leia squawked, “Where are his legs?!” But Luke defended that not only is that gingerbread man staying, but he gets to decorate him when he comes out of the oven. Leia muttered something suspiciously like “I hope he burns.”

At his side, Obi-Wan rolled a pin down forcefully to crush the little candies, nicely contained in a sealed bag. He rolled back, shoulders moving with the movement and then pushed forward again, just palming the rolling pin to so wisely keep from squashing his fingers. It’s a little thing, but it has all the comfort Obi-Wan had that morning in the kitchen. So at ease, so natural. There’s a dash of flour on the back of one hand and Anakin bet there’s some caked in the creases of his palms as well, those residual bits the hardest to just wipe off. 

He’s _not_ staring, and it’s not jarringly unprompted when he asked, “And where’s Padmé?”

“Some last minute wrapping, or so she told me.” Obi-Wan flashed a little smile carrying the implication that Padmé has some habit of half truths and little white excuses. In Anakin’s far more developed experience, that isn’t true. What could that mean for such a disparity to split their perceptions of his sister? And then there’s Ahsoka’s observation that for all the unease and straining insecurity Padmé exhibits while hand in hand with Obi-Wan, it disappears with Satine. Never once did that same fumbling and perhaps dishonest streak arise. And of all things, shouldn’t Padmé be _here_ , down in the kitchen decorating and laughing with the rest of them, _with her boyfriend?_ Surely she wasn’t avoiding them, but even when they were together physically there was a distance— always a rift, a disconnect, a something that is really the _absence_ of something. 

The oven beeped. “Would you like me to—“ Obi-Wan tried to ask but Anakin stepped away and took care of it himself, removing the batch and sliding the last one in. And grabbed the tray of bark out of the fridge while he’s near it, as though he doesn’t even have this trusty and unwanted assistant. Being no fool, he took the hint, backed away, and prepared to just allow Anakin to pretend he’s not even there. But Anakin poured the white chocolate over and rather than elbow Obi-Wan out of the way, he pointed to the bag in incredibly hesitant permission. “The peppermint.” Much more a statement than a question, but he would take what he could get. 

Obi-Wan reclaimed the ziploc of crushed candy and sprinkled it on top. Anakin didn’t retreat, didn’t draw away from how they occupied nearly the same space, as though he had to watch and make sure Obi-Wan didn’t screw up such a simple task. But he sprinkled evenly and looked proudly down at their picturesque creation.

“Great.” Anakin’s voice fell flat and unreadable— hardly reassuring to Obi-Wan’s sense that he got anywhere. But then again, once more in contrast to Obi-Wan’s perception, Anakin smiled tightly. That was something, wasn’t it? 

“I’ll clean up. You should... go check on Padmé or something.”

“Of course.” Obi-Wan nodded. He dragged his gaze away and down at his hands, now noticing the flour and dough residue, and little flakes of peppermint dusting his fingertips. It felt so… normal— a tiny sign of family traditions, the welcoming embrace of this home, this family, a thing foreign to him before now— but a family only accepting him because of Padmé and this idea that was untrue. 

Despite the atmospheric joy he frowned and scrubbed his hands thoroughly at the sink until all signs of baking washed away. By the time he turned back, Anakin stood smiling at the table, slipped back naturally into the teasing of his siblings. Luke smeared icing on Anakin’s cheek and Leia complained, with no real anger, that he was going to mess things up again, so he dropped sprinkles in her hair. 

Obi-Wan never so desperately wanted to be a part of something that he had no right to. 

-

“So, Satine, why don't you tell us a little bit about what it is you do now.” Qui-Gon, sat at one end of the table, nodded to their newest guest. Shmi, of course at the opposite end, looked delighted— it’s been so long since reconnecting. Satine, quite stuck in the middle of them, had no choice but to cave; there was rarely any saying no to one, let alone both of the parents. 

It was true that this - their Christmas Eve dinner - was much more traditional than their previous pizza night. Instead of sprawling about in their living room, a comfortable assortment of paper plates and wine glasses and quickly rearranged furniture, now their fine china rolled out before them in the neatly arranged dining room. Though even for all that formality the table runner overflowed with fake trees and homely decorations the children made in their younger years. 

“Oh—“ Satine set her glass down, a little unsure of the so singularly focused attention. Her eyes flitted to Padmé, and if they lingered on where her hand clasped Obi-Wan’s visibly atop the table before drawing away, it was not for anyone to notice. “Uh… yes, I’m working as a documentary film editor.”

“Oh! Well _Anakin_ reviews grant proposals.” Shmi cheered. Her son shot her a bewildered look because there was never any telling what she was playing at. 

Slowly, cautious of his suspicious mother, he added “Yeah... and Sabé’s a teacher and Ahsoka’s an architect. So what-?” he trailed, another confounded glance directed her way. 

“Are you in New York?” Satine asked, and Shmi grinned conspiratorially between them. 

“D.C.” she answered for him and Anakin motioned that yes, that was true. 

“But I am trying to move back up here.” He added with a pointed glare at his mother. 

“Hey, I wasn’t speaking _for_ you.” She scoffed. He signed something and her eyes widened “Oh- you know—“

“Anakin signed something really, really bad.” Luke piped up from the other end of the table.

Qui-Gon, shook his head, “Yes, he did.”

“Great signing on you too, Mom.” Anakin chastised, but his grin was all shit-eating.

“Oh, you know the only reason you can get away with doing that is because you’re her favorite!” Sabé groaned, and Anakin met the complaint by batting his eyes oh so innocently and signing he loved her.

“Not true, I do _not_ have a favorite—“ 

“It definitely _shouldn’t_ be Anakin,” Sabé winked across the dinner table at her brother. 

“The unfortunate fact that I was his mother first-“ Ahsoka mouthed _ouch_ \- “does _not_ make him any more special in my eyes.” And Shmi laughed while signing, emphatically bringing her hand away from her chin for _not_ and even managed the perfect amount of teasing disdain in _special_. Her eyes shone merrily, even as Anakin gasped, ready to defend himself from being the constant (and all too loved) butt of the family. 

Instead Obi-Wan’s smooth voice, not Anakin’s, graced them. He smiled, but of a sort that did not quite reach his eyes and sparked of confusion. “I thought Padmé, you’re the oldest.”

Which was true of course, so there was really nothing _inappropriate_ about the slight note of inquiry, but Anakin frowned, all his own teasing died on his tongue. Sure, with their family dynamic, explaining things was far from new, but never to someone so close— or _supposedly_ close. Shouldn’t Obi-Wan know this? There was no reason for Padmé to never have explained—

“She is,” Shmi agreed, and whether she was hung up on Obi-Wan’s ignorance or not, she didn’t show it. “But I had Anakin before Qui-Gon-“ she motioned and her husband picked up naturally.

“Padmé, Sabé, and Ahsoka are from my first marriage, but when my wife died I was left to care for all three of them— they were all very young then. Of course, I eventually met Shmi and her son.” Even after all those years, he gazed across the room at his wife with unfiltered adoration in his eyes. When Anakin was really young, and watching his parents fall in love, well at first he thought it was crazy— This was his _mom_ , and yeah she was wonderful but to see someone else look at her like that… he thought it was gross. Then one day his mother explained how much she loved Qui-Gon and his daughters, and that together they could all be a family. Everything fell into place naturally from there— never any hesitation, any getting hung up on the labels of step child or step sibling. He looked up to Padmé, pestered Ahsoka, confided in Sabé like they’d all been born and raised inseparably. So when they adopted the twins, everything continued in stride, the four of them never for a second considering their new brother and sister anything less than fully and irrevocably theirs.

“Anakin was a _menace-_ “ Sabé groaned. 

“ _Is_ ” Padmé corrected before Shmi’s wistful, adoring sigh brought them back. 

“I never expected to have children, Anakin surprised me enough and then suddenly I had four!” Her eyes shone but instead of shedding a sentimental tear, her smile broadened with more humor. “But that just wasn’t enough so after a few years we decided hey— what’s a few more?”

“And then they found these twin babies in a cardboard box-“ Sabé tousled Luke’s hair and he unsuccessfully tried to push her hand away. 

“I thought we were just crying on a street corner,” he piped in, eyes wide and riveted. 

“In the rain.” Leia nodded sagely. 

“Yes! How _could_ I forget the details?” Sabé lamented. 

Leia leaned forward all conspiratorially, eyes fixed right on Obi-Wan “They stole us from a wicked orphanage—“

“We adopted them _completely_ legally— but I can’t tell you why because all any of our children give us is grief.”

Obi-Wan fell into watching and listening easily, enraptured and polite. Still his forehead creased, but this time not with confusion or uncertainty. Inside himself there was this great bittersweet well, springing with desire to experience that comfort, that intimacy and not only that but wish he offered an iota of it back to Padmé. “It’s… wonderful to see that you’re all so close.”

“We find-” Qui-Gon began sentimentally, speaking words directly from the heart, so clear and honest and authentic, that even if he waxed on clichés, the whole of him poured out before his family. “-that _family_ has nothing at all to do with blood. All of us were happy and ready to open our arms to these two brilliant children.” He shined an affectionate look to his youngest. “In the end, that always means much more than anything else.” Anyone else’s pity or confusion or any other trivial feeling directed their way meant nothing. 

Obi-Wan nodded, “Of course” but his intent resounded: _I agree entirely_ — and well, that was certainly enough to finish winning over the family in one fell swoop. 

“So _now_ ,” Shmi brightened, raising her wine glass and pointedly looking around the table at her family, “we‘re just waiting for grandkids”

“Well I’m a _kid_.” Leia deadpanned, making it quite clear the looming responsibility rested on neither her nor Luke. He shook his head in eager agreement. 

“We’re trying!” Ahsoka signed enthusiastically. When she shared with her family that Barriss and her were looking to adopt, the family was overjoyed, and for the past months their journey became an incredibly communal one. As much Shmi looked forward to it, nothing compared to the couple’s eagerness at just the idea, and with every step their hope blossomed. 

Shmi laughed, “Of course I just want to see you all _happy_ —“

“Since when?” Anakin chimed in and she swatted his side. 

Leaning forward, Obi-Wan broached with visible hesitation. “If I may ask— you’re being deaf—“

“Oh!” Ahsoka took no offense, but Barriss answered faster, “Actually we were amazed how little issue the agency had over the whole hearing thing.” She cut off with a little groan as Ahsoka pulled at her ear. 

“There were so many more questions about our history as a couple.” Ahsoka finished, clearly capable of answering things directed at her for herself. 

“And about money.” Barriss noted

“This may be a personal question, but do you have any preference about the child?” 

“It totally doesn’t matter to us.” Barriss waved her hands to emphasize that really there weren’t any expectations. She grinned so brightly, it took no words to explain it, but Ahsoka provided anyway. 

“Obi-Wan? We’re just so excited about having this child at all.” 

With such a family as this, how could they not be? Where family only meant safety and comfort and— it was no surprise it meant so much to everyone here. 

Satine shifted forward in her seat, “I- I’m sorry, I don’t—” She couldn’t sign, but Barriss glossed over her apologetic look with a smile. She pressed on, “Do you two believe in nature vs nurture at all? Is that a concern in bringing a child into the house?”

“Not sure I follow you.” Barriss questioned at the same time Ahsoka asked “Why wouldn’t we bring it into the house?”

Satine kind of laughed, just like everyone else at the table, but hers was more awkward, more forced. Her hand fidgeted and flattened on the table cloth, then withdrew entirely. “Well, I- I just mean… towards sexuality. I mean there’s no irrefutable evidence one way or the other. _Yes_ , they think they’ve isolated a gene but what does that mean? They don’t know what it’s for or what it does.” 

“Didn’t they determine it’s for window treatments?” Sabé very gladly signed windows, casting her look more at Shmi than anyone else. Satine’s words came all rushed out inelegantly, unlike herself. Sad realization dawned on Shmi’s face— one brewing slowly for years, delayed by Padmé’s protectiveness, by her own fears. And try as Sabé might with her relieving humor, Satine unleashed a stream of her own insecurities that could not be damned. 

“One of the contributing factors to being gay may very well be the environment—“

Shmi waved her arms out, “Well, look at my drapes, right? Aren’t they horrible? There’s absolutely _no way_ it was this environment.”

Tension rippled. Qui-Gon, with a friendly but placating smile, leaned forward. “Why don’t you two run and put your pajamas on?” The twins, too kind to recognize what was happening, raced each other out of the dining room; Qui-Gon settled into a look the rest of the family knew. He held the terrifying ability to reprimand someone in the most respectful of phrases, asserting no place for arguing. “Satine, most of us here believe that sexual orientation is the result of a genetic predisposition, much like… handedness.” 

Anakin mouthed _handedness_ while Padmé laughed, “Well that _and_ Mom. She tried to make us all gay.”

Shmi’s look feigned offense, but she always smiled too much for her faux hurt to deceive anyone. “What are you talking about? I didn’t _try_ , Padmé! No, true, I did _hope—_ I mean, I did— I did desperately _hope_ , that you would all be gay, especially my boys. Then you’d never leave me. So sorry, by the way, girls.”

“Oh, right!” Sabé huffed. 

“She would ask me when I was eight years old if I was gay.” Ahsoka said wistfully. 

Padmé grinned, so relaxed she swayed with her delight. “Hey, she asked _all_ of us that.”

“Yeah, Snips. Stop pretending you’re so special.” Anakin leaned forward, so Ahsoka could watch him pointedly sign _special_. 

“Hey, Ani, are you sure that you’re not straight?” Sabé teased and Anakin threw a grape across the table at her. It just knocked against her plate and rolled across the cloth. 

“I gave up hope on Anakin years ago.“ Shmi pushed her son’s side and he pouted. 

It was easy, things were always easy— they loved one another too much for things not to be. It could have propelled from there, the blip of Satine’s comments forgotten - or not really forgotten but registered silently in the memories of all present, but not to go mentioned again, and certainly not to surge up again, interrupting conversation once more. 

But of course, because all the unease had melted aside, Satine piped up again. “You didn’t re- didn’t _really_ hope for gay children, did you?”

For a beat, none spoke. Padmé’s anxious throat clearing was only supplanted by a particularly heavy swallow. There was a beat, where no one spoke. Padmé’s throat clearing was avoided by a particularly heavy swallow. At her side, Obi-Wan’s hand fell away from hers and at the end of the table, Shmi’s smile vanished. 

“Well, I’m- I don’t think that anyone _wishes_ for that.”

“Satine—“ Padmé tried— warning with dry, strained and overwrought patience. 

“No, I’m sorry. I mean— please don’t misunderstand me.” Satine begged and that at least was genuine. Her eyes widened with shock at her own words as though her younger were not her own and everything stumbled out wrong, muddled. But she couldn’t do that, leave herself misunderstood, so she continued on, despite the silence, despite the clear silence screaming _no, stop_ “I- I don’t mean— Well, all I mean to say is- that just— I just don’t think that any parent would hope for a child to be... challenged like that.” 

She grasped for words, and if that wasn’t bad enough, Ahsoka frowned and slowly admitted “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear a word you said.”

“This isn’t coming out right.” But still Ahsoka missed the words. Satine’s imprecise tone, her stammering and flight hands made it impossible to discern anything. This time no one shared in Satine’s tense laughter. “All I’m trying to say is— What I _mean_ to say is, life is hard enough as it is and it just seems to me that you wouldn’t want to make it any more difficult for your child. I mean, Obi-Wan you must understand what I’m trying to say. Right?”

Faces turned to his and for once, it fell impassive. Not a single crease, not a smile, not even a flicker of amusement in his eyes. If there was anything, it spoke of subdued pain, masked very thickly, and not to be revealed now, if at all. “Or— _Barriss_ , surely—“ Anakin jerked, his knife clacked against his plate so thunderously loud she stopped. He couldn’t look at anything, and wasn’t the only one. Eyes fixed on glasses, table clothes, hands and silverware, but not at one another.

Except Ahsoka, who leaned against Barriss and asked in what could not pass as a whisper in the quiet, “What did- What did she say?”

Barriss signed, the first to look up, and stared pointedly as she answered, a response not for Satine to know. Ahsoka frowned. 

“I’m sorry I don’t mean that. Honestly—“ 

“Why don’t you try saying what it is you do mean.” Padmé deadpanned. Even she looked critical, rather than cold unkindness, Padmé’s voice faintly wavered with weariness. 

Satine‘s voice sounded shattered with desperation that not a soul could support her, not either of the people who knew, because she was wrong and even _she_ knew that but still her words hung in the air, barely her own. Still more wanted to roll off her tongue— she aimed to wrap a bandage around the matter but instead ripped into the wound further and further. “Padmé—”

Qui-Gon sat straighter in his seat, “Alright, that’s enough.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Well, that’s enough.” He sighed, and for a moment, it was _almost_ like they could move on. A collective shifting, a desire to escape— not that it excused things, not that it undid a burrowing hurt. Worse was that, two at the table knew the place it came from. Obi-Wan and Padmé both knew too well what Satine’s life was, what the expectations set upon her were. Even as her own person, even away from her parents, some things engrained too deeply into her- even when that hate, that discomfort went so against who she really was. 

The pain was her own, and really not directed at Ahsoka at all- it couldn’t be, not when Satine reflected all these thoughts back at herself. Maybe that’s why she was so desperate to spew this vitriol- a form of self punishment. She made Ahsoka both victim and bystander. “I just think any parent would want a normal child—“

“Oh! God—” Shmi shrieked- she was not one for yelling, for raised volumes or any of that. It wasn’t the norm in their family from either parent. 

“Shmi-“

“Don’t _Shmi_ me-“ She cut her husband off, staring across the table at Qui-Gon with eyes burning. 

“Just for the _child’s_ sake! Just to make it easier for that _child—_ “

Qui-Gon slammed the table, a flicker of real anger, protectiveness more than anything, blowing up inside him. “That’s enough!” He took a breath, deflated as quickly as it happened, his usual calm restored, but still on edge with sincerity. A promise, not a threat. “That’s enough.”

”Dad—“ Padmé breathed. 

“It’s too much, Padmé. That’s enough.”

Satine nodded, accepting the inevitable conclusion. Her mouth opened and shut twice before she managed words, a meek “Excuse me.” She stood shakily, and though her exit aimed at politeness, an effort for credit in that area long vanished. 

“I know how she can seem—“ Obi-Wan tried, but no one cared. He was cut off by Shmi calling across the table. Squeezing Padmé’s shoulder, he stepped out the way Satine left. 

“Hey! Hey you!” Shmi tilted bodily, trying to get Ahsoka to look at her, but her daughter only stared blankly at the table. Shmi threw her fork. It clattered obscenely, but enough for Ahsoka’s eyes to travel over. For a moment they held, just Shmi’s gaze sparkling with adoration and the most urgent affection. She pointed to herself, held that sign, and something broke in her voice and in her eyes before she even got her words out. “I love you. And _you_ are more normal than any other… _asshole_ sitting at this table.” She waved her hands, got a small smile out of herself, and one from Ahsoka. “Okay?” She sniffed, trying to collect herself. With a breath and a watery smile she down, then squeezed Anakin’s hand, “I need a new fork.”

Obi-Wan re-entered and Sabé asked “Is she okay?”

He slid back into his seat, half shrugging “How would you feel?” It did not sound an accusation. Shmi’s affirmations, pointed at Ahsoka but really heard by all of them, did enough to ease the blow of Satine’s words. However the implications and the undercurrent of such particular pain lingered. 

And as they sat, the back door loudly opened and shut. A car engine turned over, then unmistakably a car reversed, but too quickly, gaining speed, skidding, the thuds of hitting a tree followed by a single honk of a rather pathetic car horn. 

Shmi breathed “Uh-oh” and her hand covered her mouth. While they all jumped to alert, no one got up, unsure what to do with themselves. Barriss signed out the situation to an intrigued Ahsoka— then tires skidded and there was another crash. 

“Oh, my god—“ Anakin poorly tried to cover his laugh. 

“Anakin. Not funny.“ His mother scolded and he did his best (still not great) to school his features. 

“I’m just gonna go see—“ Obi-Wan stood half out of his chair again but Padmé sat him back down. She slipped out more gracefully and (more importantly) more quickly than he did. Her guilty tone explained the speed. 

“I got it, I got it— Excuse me.” And she was out the door too. 

“They’ll be alright,” Shmi said with a tight smile, eyes widening a little with shock humor as she looked around at her family. 

“How about we watch a movie?” Barriss offered and it instantly eased everyone. 

“Wonderful idea, dear.”


	5. Chapter 5

“This is a horrible idea.” Satine doubted, staring at the table— old wood, a little sticky and stained in a way that could never properly clean off. 

“I know.” Padmé stated, and looked at her clearly for the first time all day. Then, she smiled, and her whole face lit up so genuinely that Satine could have swore she transformed into a new person. “Now let’s get drunk.” And Padmé downed her shot with a perfect performance and fluidity refined from college. 

Two beers and four shots sat between them, and when Padmé brought them over she labeled them “starters” for their night. Outside the house, with the tail end of Padmé’s car dented up and smashed into a tree, Satine didn’t protest when she was pushed to the passenger side and Padmé promised “I know where to go.” She only cried a little, hysterical and exasperated tears that came more as shuddering breaths than anything. 

Padmé’s levity for Satine to laugh, and any remaining tension shattered apart as she much less gracefully took her drink. The plastic seat of the booth creaked when she leaned back. “I’m not a bad person!” Satine exclaimed with a burning throat and flailing hands. 

“You’re a total mess.” Padmé grinned— she tried not to but failed completely. “Look at you.”

“I am?”

“I mean that in the best possible sense, of course.” Second shot down, she motioned to herself- if anyone understood her constant stress, it was Satine. “You know that.”

“I do?“ Satine sighed, shoulders sagging. All the fight sank out of her and a sort of helplessness replaced it. She stared at the table again, some thought tracing slowly through her mind, her head dropped down in her hands. Padmé switched to sips of cheap beer and waited, watched whatever thought work itself out. But instead of some grand realization, Satine perked up with all the coordination of someone half a dozen shots in (when her one hadn’t even hit yet). “I love the gays! Gay people!”

Padmé snorted “They know that—“

“Then why—“ Her head drooped again, lolling on her shoulders. She sighed again, and attempted composing herself. Widening her eyes with determined focus, Satine’s hands motioned pointedly on the table top. “I tried, and I try— and I— Of course I didn’t mean it to sound like that! I just… my parents were so—“

“Maybe you should stop.” Padmé reached across the table top to Satine’s unsurely splayed hand. Her own was cold from the grip on her drink, but Satine didn’t draw from it— don’t jolt or do anything other than watch and hold her breath. “Just… stop. Stop trying- you know? It’s exhausting- Trying to keep that lid screwed on so tight. Just… you know, relax.” Easily advice she herself needed to take. So on the other side of the booth, she heaved a great dramatic sigh and leaned back into the squeaking vinyl backing of her seat. Then she nodded for Satine to do the same, to relax physically, and just stop thinking.

“I’m not comfortable.” And she certainly didn’t look it. 

“Okay... Here’s the thing, Satine.” It was like they were in college again, confiding in one another over finals or midterm stress, absurd social and dating problems and all the like— a whirlwind but always in the end, just the two of them in a booth, and nothing else mattered. Now it was her turn to focus and search for just the right words. She tapped her nails on a glass before it came to her, “Do you remember,” she hesitated, “our orientation— no, wait, it was our first week. And there were those required events for freshman—“

“Which we always ducked out of. Where are you going with this?” 

Padmé solidified from her melted slump, all business now, determined to be heard. She scooted forward until she leaned half over the table, the only barrier between them. “Come on, I’m reminiscing, just hear me out. No, really— do you remember one event we couldn’t sneak out of, and it was about like, getting out there and experiencing campus? And it started with an assembly— I don’t remember what they called it, but the Dean talked and then some student organizations and then that speaker. Because that’s what you need to do.”

Satine rolled her eyes. “Go back in time and relive our undergrad? Broaden my horizons?” 

“No not that bit! The other one— the loosen up, let your hair down thing… Some really stupid phrase...” She searched for it, the memory of this ridiculous phrase some cheesy motivational speaker told them and they, being the eighteen year olds they were, ruthlessly made fun of it until they couldn’t stop saying it (entirely ironically of course) But that was years ago, and she hadn’t thought of it in so long, hadn’t let herself reminisce like this. Then it hit, and Padmé lit up with remembrance, “Freak flag! That’s what it was. You’ve got a freak flag, you just don’t fly it.” Surely she never could recall that sober. 

It took Satine a delayed second for the memory to spark up the same way. Her hand flew to her mouth then she was giggling, which turned to whole body racking laughter because it was such a stupid thing. But she needed it, and because it was theirs. Their memories, their connections, and just them in the booth, like old times. 

-

Polar Express played on the television, a vision of swirling snow as the boy stomped blindly on the top of the train. Anakin sat on the couch, with Ahsoka pressed to one side and Leia to the other. He knew the younger was on the verge of snoozing and really, he was on the cusp himself. He lay comfortable and warm, and he made sure not to move to disturb Leia (she threatened him to promise to be still) and now, he was so unusually relaxed that yeah, he could just drift off. That and his crusade against Obi-Wan was mentally exhausting. 

The very same Obi-Wan who sat on the floor with Luke, helping go through a box of decorations to find stockings and stocking hangers, always put out last at the end of the night. Luke picked through and found another hook while Obi-Wan lifted another stocking and set it aside— Luke apparently had a method and order to hanging them up that wasn’t age order and he wasn’t one to intervene. 

Though the lights in their family room (excluding the twinkling bulbs strung up on their tree) dimmed for the movie, from other rooms a warm glow poured in. Shmi and Barris worked in the kitchen, a distant clacking of kitchenware. Sabé padded in, the sound of her footsteps disguised in other comfortable noise. “Hey-“ she half whispered from the doorway. Anakin looked up at her, motioned she was good to keep talking without waking either sister, both curling more into his ribs with each second. “Still no word from either of them, Padmé won’t answer her phone or anything. Mom hasn’t said anything about it but I don’t want her getting too worried.”

Anakin nodded, “Grab my keys for me- I’ll go check in town, see if I can find them.” He muffled a groan, being gentle for once in maneuvering out from in between the girls. Sabé disappeared around the corner only to pop up again and toss Anakin’s car keys at him. 

But it was Obi-Wan’s hand that caught them- with far too precise reflexes and Anakin hadn’t even noticed him move. “I’m coming.” He stated matter of factly, with no room to argue and the This is my fault idea creeping back into his voice. Anakin shrugged, though he was far from unbothered. A night out with Obi-Wan— hopefully they’d find Padmé quickly, wherever she’d gotten to. 

-

Obviously, neither Satine nor Padmé handed over some itinerary when they rushed away, so there was little to go off in beginning their search. They drove into town, the university and main street sprawl of pedestrian walks and small shops that Anakin grew up around. Now he considered them all viable hiding places— no clue where the two of them got to; Obi-Wan wondered (aloud) if they could have checked into the hotel. He did not voice that if they did, it would only be because Satine felt unwelcome and might look for another place to stay. 

Anakin indulged the idea, but even that gave them nothing. 

No sign of them anywhere, leaving both men to wander the street, looking for any trace at all. The town lay empty, filled with holiday decorations and the promise that tomorrow it would spring forth joyous and festive, but now cold and dark seeped life from it. Like a ghost town, or a movie set, devoid of real personality but so very close to reflecting it. Or maybe that was just how Anakin felt, all on edge and not himself. He found no reason to say anything the entire drive, or while they walked, other than a grumbled “Sure” at Obi-Wan’s plan and did not intend to change that. 

“So why are you so determined to hate me?” The cold whipped around them and this time Anakin was the one to clear his throat. 

“What?“ He squawked indignantly, a million excuses and lies running through his mind. It wasn’t— well he knew he wasn’t exactly subtle most the time, he wore his emotions on his sleeve and it didn’t take Snips standing there pointing out how stupid he was for him to know that he was far from discreet. But he thought that even with all his attempts, Obi-Wan didn’t care. To be called out so absolutely, and with no one there to add to the ribbing or inelegantly move the conversation along, Anakin was stuck. He was stuck alone, the street before them empty, just ambling along, both knowing it was unlikely Padmé and Satine would come stumbling from any of the closed stores or just drive by, a gift from fate. 

No. For now it was just them and the crisp air, the many glittering stars, and the holiday decorations- wreaths and lights framing each window and window display and strung on street lamps. 

Obi-Wan laughed a very clear sound that still made Anakin's stomach do flips. He had this very honest laugh, sharp and a little caught in his throat— one of the many things about him that felt remarkably private. His smile and his laugh and the way his eyes sort of lit up (Anakin hated noticing these things but couldn’t get them out of his head once he did) felt like Obi-Wan had one thought, one care for indulging whoever he spoke to. It shone of intimacy beyond reason. Anakin sucked in his lower lip and looked to the stars when Obi-Wan sighed “It’s alright. I used the word hate, so don’t feel like you have to confirm or deny anything.” 

For a bear of silence Anakin itched to say something, a guilty need to fill it, while at his side Obi-Wan felt honest and welcome. He couldn’t understand why Anakin was... well why he was antagonistic about everything, but he was too caught up in his own things to load that problem on top of everything. He’s already meddled with Padmé and Satine, and look where that got them: wandering the street on Christmas Eve, freezing their asses off. 

“I don’t hate you.” Anakin stated, still looking at the stars. He traced visible constellations with his eyes and huffed out a long held exhale. His voice dipped with a clear integrity, but the kind a child uses when they’ve been caught out. “It’s just... Padmé always put so much stress on herself. She’s always trying to be the caretaker and prove how much she can do— which is crazy because we all know she can do anything. Sometimes… if she just took a break—“ Anakin cut himself off with a huff, tugged on his hat in a little nervous gesture. “It’s not you,” he emphasized, looking at Obi-Wan for the briefest moment. “I just want her to be happy.”

“And you don’t think I’ll make her happy.”

Anakin's eyes widened with another excuse, denial quick on his tongue “No, that’s not it! It’s not—“

“What do you do, Anakin?” Obi-Wan asked with an abrupt, shattering shift in topic. He had that frown line above his nose again. 

“What?”

“What you do- your work. When you visited us in October, you never said. I realized I have no idea what you do— Your mother said grant proposals?”

Anakin went through a cycle of going brain dead, turning over again until finally his thoughts stuttered back to life much like a very old car engine. “Right yeah— I, uh- Grant proposals. Artist grants. I review proposals, people’s stories about why they need the money and what their project is. Like—“ he waved his gloves hands. He floundered to explain his work- not because it was complicated but because the turning in his gut turned into a much more knowable, familiar anxiety at voicing things he cared about. Just describing the details of it felt so impersonal, and he grasped to deliver something. “This totem pole— It was the first totem pole to be raised in this community in a hundred years. And it was just because this guy just, like— I guess he was a fisherman— would wander around, you know, from bar to bar talking about how he had this… hole in his heart. That’s how he put it. He said he couldn’t sleep. He would just lie there in bed because of this hole in his heart.”

Obi-Wan stopped, and Anakin noticed a step later. He forced a smile and half laughed, “I’m sorry— You don’t even want to hear all this.”

“No, no, Tell me.” Obi-Wan reached out, a consoling hand on Anakin’s arm. “Tell me.” The warm press of it was like an anchor- he could sense the softness of those ridiculous but sensible mittens even through his own layers. 

Anakin started, brain jolting again and there was a certain flip in his gut, “Oh, uh well- The community got together and um... they found the guy a log. The guy had never carved a thing before in his life. It took him five years. I flew there for the raising. It was just this tiny, tiny island off of the coast. The whole town was there. It was— It was incredible. You just couldn’t look at it without crying.”

“I’d love to see that.” 

“What- me crying?”

“No,” Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, and his hand fell away. “The totem pole.”

“Well...It’s there for you.” Anakin’s words hung in the air before he started walking again, pretending to himself that he didn’t miss Obi-Wan’s touch. And certainly no part of him wondered what it would feel like if it were just his hand, without all the layers between them. Just his hand and Anakin’s skin- a warm touch, guiding and gentle and so sure. And of course always accompanied with that smile that could melt anything- a look that kicked up something in Anakin he’d never thought he’d ever feel- and certainly not with Obi-Wan of all people. He wanted to shake himself, scatter those thoughts away because they were ridiculous. 

He set the same slow pace as before— sure they had a purpose but the longer they walked the less urgent it seemed. The silence between them was not tense, per say, but Anakin felt it filled with his own rampant thoughts, heating his nervousness and like a red hot, electric wire stretching out between them, thrumming with something. Or perhaps it was just him. Regardless, the street lights twinkled, the stars shone, and the world spun as it always did. And in this quiet, Anakin felt each step taken in stride with an old friend from a time long ago. He couldn’t explain it. It felt too natural and ineffable— he chased it, craved understanding it, despite everything about the situation.

“Do you feel like you chose?” Obi-Wan asked, lost in his own grand, universal ponderings. His hands stuffed low in his pockets, and of course Anakin spotted that little crease on his face (it vanished in recount of the totem).

“What do you—“

His breath came out in a great puff- “I don’t know. Chose your life? Do you feel like you said ‘This is the thing I’m going to do and these are the things I want’— not necessarily because you were good at this one thing or because everybody told you that’s what you should want or because everybody said that’s who you were?” He paused, and shook his head. Anakin watched him steadily, but when Obi-Wan looked up he noted “You’re shivering.”

“It’s nothing.“ Anakin hated the cold, it didn’t matter if he’d lived in it his whole life. He shivered all the time, even in summer, and bundled himself up as often as possible— yet still (despite the whining of his family) neglected to own any appropriate winter apparel. 

Before he could raise much more protest,Obi-Wan already pulled his scarf off and wrapped it around Anakin’s exposed neck. They stood like that, Obi-Wan close while securing the piece around him. Anakin could smell peppermint and cinnamon; he wondered how much of it lingered from their baking marathon with the twins or if Obi-Wan took the time to indulge in the fruits of their labor. 

He breathed a hot cloud when he sighed, Anakin would have felt it on his neck if it weren’t so newly well protected. “I don’t know. I mean, this artist grants work— How did you know that that’s the thing you were going to be passionate about?” Obi-Wan’s eyes cast up a bit, startlingly blue in the reflecting light surrounding them. 

“Who said I was passionate about it?” Anakin hoped if Obi-Wan noticed how unnatural his laugh came out, a harsh huff against his cheek, it wasn’t the cause for his pulling away.

“No- Don’t do that. Don’t joke.” His step back separated them but one hand gripped Anakin’s arm again— like he needed a tether every time he implored him. More than that, it promised something unnamed. “You know I’ve been thinking about this monastery I missed seeing in Hong Kong— Like that’s an important thing.”

“Then you should go.” The earnestness in Anakin’s voice surprised even him. 

Obi-Wan’s face softened and his grin (that toothy, genuine thing) just melted all insecurity away. “But now I want to go to Alaska. I do-” he insisted at Anakin’s doubtful look. “I want to see that totem pole. I want to see that thing that felt like a hole in the center of that guy. That thing he needed to make just so he could sleep.”

Anakin hoped the cold hid the flush of his face. With the chill air he knew he probably already looked ridiculous, nose red and eyes shining, but he begged the warmth in his cheeks wasn’t too obvious— though it matched the hot press of Obi-Wan’s hand still on his arm. He only let go when he motioned to his chest to this tremendous idea of a void inside filled by the catharsis of carving something so personal yet still communal. And when he smiled, that tense look vanished from his face— but maybe Anakin started to find even that endearing. 

The wind picked up- the night breeze turning into a solid gust that made Anakin reach for his hat rather impulsively and tug it lower. Obi-Wan’s hands found his coat pockets again, but he seemed unbothered by the drafts of air with new and free access to his collar. When they left the house, the night reigned clear, but now the beginning traces of clouds swept in, promising new snowfall by the early hours of morning. 

“If they aren’t around here, and not checked into the hotel,” Anakin began, feeling out of place lingering on the sentimental. So he set his mind back into the task at hand. “Then the best we can do is head back to the car and the house — Unless anyone calls with news—“

Obi-Wan shook his head, “No, no one has sent anything.”

Anakin nodded, his phone stayed silent all the same. He knew it before he even said it- hardly a question at all. Their search could grant them nothing now. If Padmé and Satine wanted to stay a mystery, they would. 

“You’re right.” Obi-Wan’s breath came out in a delicate cloud. He stopped walking- though really they moved at a slow enough crawl anyways- and a pace later Anakin halted too, turning to look at his companion. They still stood so close, and he could really take in the height advantage (and certainly nothing else, like the way Obi-Wan’s very clear eyes shone in the cold, and his face nipped pink and his hair which stayed so finely in place for days now had strands whisked out of place by the whims of the wind). “We might as well get back. There’s no telling where they’ve gone off to.”

Anakin managed a smile, and with a little more purpose, and no more need to fill their time with meaningful conversation, set back towards the car. The night darkened completely ahead of them. Stars glittered above between the first wisps of cloud cover. The street, just their little town main street, with its brick buildings and ample window displays both lavish and homely. All decorated seasonally, of course, draped in holly, colored lights, fake snow that in a few hours might be outdone by real flakes. 

Anakin exhaled with a relief at the new goal of going home, a clear directive that let him focus on something other than the conflicting thoughts rattling around in his head. His beat up station wagon stood out against the lack of other cars on the street, alone proving movement and action and people still existed in this sleepy world. But he and Obi-Wan teetered on that edge of the dreamlike, perfect winter scene, it’s lone inhabitants. Like figure skaters, graceful and practiced slide towards the car. It was so easy, Anakin could have anyone at his side— Ahsoka or Sabé or Padmé. It was Christmas Eve afterall, a night to be spent with family and friends— not searching for your sister and her (supposed) friend with her boyfriend who is, afterall, a menace to your home and happiness (though he’s terrible at acting as such). 

Instead stillness stretched between them as thin and lilting as the air. Like an old movie scene- their footsteps marking prints in the ground. It skirted too near what Anakin could imagine for himself in a dream, in a fantasy holiday spent not with his family, but on his own or, or perhaps with one other— Even a soundtrack, a humming carol melody, slow and gentle. It melted into his head, his reverie drifting relentlessly, traitorously towards thoughts of romance. He didn’t even question it for a minute until— no of course, it was Obi-Wan. He hummed carelessly, candidly, and like he might softly croon a bar or two and Anakin would only melt further. How could someone’s voice, even just their humming, be such a comfort? Like a warm embrace, or a blanket- a familiarity that promises there is no urgency in the world, only perfect and lazy contentment.

Anakin didn’t even— saying something would shatter the moment, but some feeling clawed at him, trying to itch its way out of his heart. A nagging desire that desperately needed quashing- because what else can you feel in such a moment but an infinite and substantial love? No— not love, Anakin told himself— adoration, he could admit to. Affection, warmth, compassion. Oh, and irritation— because Obi-Wan chipped away at his façade far too easily, without even saying a word. Anakin even remained red and too warm while slipping into his car.

Not like he would ever hurt his car, but he almost wanted to break his radio so it’s crackling to life music didn’t replace Obi-wan’s voice— but it was too late.

-

Sabé looked up expectantly when the kitchen door creaked up, but still a weariness stayed in her eyes. The wood popped and groaned with age, seizing in the cold. Anakin came first, stomping his feet, face blurred with cold flush and half obscured by a scarf. Obi-Wan crowded in after him, shutting the door with force and a relieved breath that still clouded. She could lead with any number of light jokes about the weather, or ask if there was new snowfall yet, but instead she nodded- an unspoken assessment of their obvious predicament “Still nothing.”

“I swear-“ Anakin coughed from the chill in his lungs, rubbing his hands together and frowning, “Next I see Padmé, I’m gonna choke her for making us go out in this.” 

Sabé uncurled and slid off her seat slowly, her socked feet light on the cold linoleum and an old, white ceramic mug clutched in her hands. “She’ll be fine,” she said with enough warm reassurance for the both of them, coming up to Anakin and brushing snow from his shoulder. “Is this a new scarf?”

Anakin once again hoped the effects of the cold kept his face from getting too flushed too quickly, unsure whether to rip the offending scarf off or burrow into its warmth even more. Sabé freed him from giving an answer, clearly putting much less stock in the casual interrogation than he did.

“It’s late. The kettle should still be hot if either of you wants to warm up, but I’m off to bed.” Tilting up on her toes, she kissed Anakin’s cheek and offered a smile to Obi-Wan. On her way out, she glanced at their aged analog clock on the wall, “And Merry Christmas.” The doors swung behind her, wrapping them in isolation once more. If every part of him weren’t alive with nerves, he could have spared a thought to curse the universe for scheduling so much time just him and Obi-Wan in one night. 

For the second time in this same night, Anakin cleared his throat (and cursed Padmé’s apparently contagious habit) and pointed to the pot, “Would you—“

“Please,” Obi-Wan cut in with a quiet but almost too present enthusiasm— like both of them were asking and answering a different question. 

Anakin pulled two mugs from the cabinet, fished a tea bag (they only had one variety since they were a coffee family after all) from their drawer and threw it in one mug. When he grabbed the kettle and poured the thankfully still steaming water into both cups, he turned back to see Obi-Wan raise an eyebrow. Whatever anticipation passed between them before left and instead the man’s face pulled with amusement, and perhaps even affection. “Just a cup of water for you?”

Anakin rolled his eyes, handing over Obi-Wan’s tea and thinking to himself what a horrible, ungrateful guest he was. Wordlessly he reached back into the drawer and pulled out this time a packet of hot chocolate. 

Obi-Wan’s indulgent smile stretched, and for once Anakin felt like a real part of whatever constant, internal joke flitted around in the man’s head. “Would that not be better with milk instead of water?”

Anakin’s face flattened, “I’m just trying to get warm, I’m not being picky.” So as much as he wanted it (damn Obi-Wan for being right) he refused to retrieve milk from the fridge and top off his mug as he usually would. 

And Obi-Wan huffed too familiarly- too knowingly, screamed a teasing accusation: Anakin? Not picky? Never. He could practically hear the thought rolling off him as Anakin leveled a glare. Oh but even the mental barrage wasn’t enough! From just over the lip of his mug, Obi-Wan’s lips tightened with poorly suppressed pleasure. “Was my scarf not enough to satisfy you?”

Anakin wondered- with all the little steps and details leading up to this moment- how much could he blame Padmé for. Being friends with Obi-Wan to begin with, apparently dating him, therefore being the reason for their ill-fated meeting in the first place— running out in the cold on Christmas Eve and leaving Anakin to go hoping she’s alright, searching for her but then stuck with her beau as a companion— and clearly she held all responsibility for his aversion to the cold which meant, even with a hat and coat and as many layers as he could manage, he still shivered until Obi-Wan took off his own scarf and wrapped it around Anakin’s neck— in the car he tried to give it back but the man refused to let Anakin take it off (“Either you wear it or no one does. I won’t have your teeth needlessly chattering all night”) — and then by still eluding the family, she left Obi-Wan and Anakin alone in the kitchen just so Anakin could be mocked. 

Finally he removed it, the last sign of their (failed) mission and even then he undid it hesitantly. 

Something about it, unraveling it from the tight loops Obi-Wan secured it with hours ago, feeling the light scratch of it as Anakin bared his neck, it was like handing over a part of his soul- that very heart he always kept on his sleeve. But of course, this piece wasn’t his to give away at all, it was Obi-Wan’s in the first place. 

He couldn’t even muster up a teasing response, a joke that it didn’t help anyways, or that it was uncomfortable, or that he never even needed it. Instead, Anakin very honestly said “Thank you.” He looked at Obi-Wan when he said it, to the man accepting his own scarf back into one hand with Anakin’s other offering - the tea - clasped in the other. And in this home that was also Anakin’s, in the warmth of his mother’s kitchen, Obi-Wan’s eyes swam not with the prickling cold of snow, but with something dazzling and new. A frightening idea that for a moment all the universe existed in the briefest, barest touch of their fingertips and the casting of gazes as fleeting as if they were kids with their first crush. A thing only terrifying for how comfortable and right it really was. 

Anakin retreated, lacking all the grace of Sabé’s earlier departure. He could not bring himself to say anything else, or wish goodnight with a right smile. Just holding his mug between both shivering hands, he absconded to the family room, which for another night would be his own bed. He did not think about the way those eyes lit up, or the memory of Obi-Wan’s hand pressed to his side, insistent and warm, or the trailing of knuckles along his throat as a scarf was secured. Protective, safe, warm. His stomach did that flip again but this time he told himself it stemmed from the drink and certainly nothing else.

In their great house, as old as time and just as loved, creeping cold made floors creak and windows frost. Anakin longed for his bed, to feel like a child on Christmas Eve again. He envied the twins. The couch, though comfortable, didn’t compare, even with his drink and his blanket and Judy Garland singing over the television speakers, volume turned only loud enough for him to hear. Something especially odd lingered, knowing a floor above, Obi-Wan lay filling the space usually his—

And to Obi-Wan too, an off kilter feeling plagued him, new and unsettled. The previous night in this same bed, this same room in this same house he slept soundly, but now something lingered and he could too easily, though unwillingly, name it. When he pulled the comforter over himself, stuck his feet under the thermal sheets, it felt remarkably like Anakin lay there- the feeling of him, and even the smell of his bed too much like the presence of standing near him. His fingers, diving under the layers of comfort for warmth, itched with the memory of Anakin’s skin. 

This was ridiculous. He came here for Padmé— though of course she was nowhere to be found and they weren’t really dating. But Anakin didn’t know that— and to come here and entertain any idea of anything with her brother of all people. His traitorous mind only thought of all Anakin’s jabs over the days, how there was something so natural with him. And worse was that of course Anakin was right— he wasn’t suited to be with Padmé and never would have been (though not that he was trying to be). They shared that desire to see her happy— It was the whole reason he invited Satine! 

A plan which went south all too quickly, which- well— Absolutely unlike his usual method of doing things, he’d hardly thought it out. But he knew the way they spoke of one another separately, after their time apart, and he knew the way both of them longed to rekindle what they’d lost. So maybe for the sake of meddling and caring far too much about his friends’ happiness he’d done something brash and entirely foolish. 

Obi-Wan pressed his face into the pillow (certainly not taking in a wave of Anakin) feeling absolutely mortified. Maybe he could just stay like that all night and all these problems would melt away. Padmé and Satine would safely return home. Though the clock betrayed midnight already passed, when he woke it would really be Christmas, and he could once more give his thought to the kindness of this family, to supporting his friend, and nothing else. Certainly waking in this bed wouldn’t just remind him of the same thoughts he struggled to shove out hid his head already— certainly he could focus and control that train for a moment of peace, citing Padmé as the greater cause and his own ridiculous burgeoning interest meant nothing— besides, this was Anakin, pathetically determined to get on his last nerve for days and absolutely not succeeding at working his way into Obi-Wan’s every thought and every moment. 

The knock sounded so light he almost thought it wasn’t real. He pulled his face out of the pillow and sat convincing himself that yes, someone really knocked. Oh, but the bed was so comfortable— but if Padmé perhaps came home (was it wrong to think home with no hesitation when after all, it wasn’t his home?). He clicked on the bedside lamp. Not even a wink of sleep greeted him but the reintroduction to light made him squint, and he already missed the enveloping warmth of the bed. 

“Anakin?” He whispered it, voice filled with confusion but no urgency. A certain thrill chased along his spine, different from the nip of cold that crept into the room. His voice dipped low with an air of secrecy and seclusion. They were far from the only ones in the house and this - Anakin coming to his door in the night - felt much more indecent than all the other quiet moments spent alone together that already filled their past hours. Was he waiting for Anakin to make some confession? To say something admitting to whatever hummed under his skin, that spark between them (ridiculous connection with no regard for time or place or anything appropriate)?

“Sorry-“ Anakin mumbled, shifting weight between his bare feet “I just needed to grab socks, and another blanket—“ because yes, of course, Obi-Wan reminded himself, this was Anakin’s room afterall. Anakin’s home, not his. 

He nodded— could one stutter through a nod? He managed it in the shakiest of barely passable ways then stepped out of the way and let Anakin in with an awkward shuffle of movement. He, taller than Obi-Wan, broader and slightly more imposing, seemed so small with the way he held himself, still chilled and desperate for comfort. It felt wrong to slip back into the bed, but standing by the door seemed so impersonal as well. God when was the last time he felt this self conscious?

The sock drawer sliding open made more noise than either of them had. Anakin found not one but two thick blankets to tuck himself in with. He shivered, and Obi-Wan finally let out a long held breath, 

“Please, just take the bed, Anakin. I’ll be alright on the couch.” More than alright. He needed it, to assuage his guilt and to know Anakin would be warm and comfortable and alright. 

The man stood with everything bundled preciously in his arms. His eyes sparkled with something searching and eager. “My dream - the one with you in it - I never told you about it.” Obi-Wan furrowed his brow a little, annoyed Anakin threw off his offering so lightly but nodded. Yes, he wanted to hear about it, he’d want to hear about anything Anakin ever had to say. 

Anakin shifted again, managing to suppress the chills down his spine. “You were shoveling snow. You were… you were just a little kid, and you were in a flannel and a big winter coat, and you were shoveling snow from the walk in front of the house.” He paused waiting for Obi-Wan to laugh or dismiss him in some way. When that never came, he finished, earnestly, “And I was the snow. I was the snow and everywhere it landed and everything it covered. And you scooped me up… with a big red shovel. I just— I was everywhere, and you just… scooped me up.”

Obi-Wan never before so desperately wanted to hold someone, to be with someone completely and entirely. He felt there were no words, nothing to say to equal everything Anakin was. 

“It’s funny.”

“What is?” Anakin frowned as Obi-Wan realized too late that was the entirely wrong thing to say. 

“This.” Not the dream— the dream wasn’t funny, it was everything. What was funny - what was strange - was this— Them.Whatever that meant, whatever existed between them—

“You know-” Anakin tried. “I can’t—” It was in that beat of silence that he withdrew, like the light dimmed out of him and he looked lost at sea again. He tightened his embrace around the blankets and managed a tense smile, like saying it was stupid anyway. He said the wrong thing; Anakin finally reached out and he idiotically said the wrong thing because his head so completely overflowed with feeling beyond words. But it wasn’t stupid- and Obi-Wan wanted to cry out no a million times over to get him to stay and yes, he wanted to scoop Anakin up.

Without the span of the room between them, Anakin only a step away from leaving again, once more their eyes found one another and he said, with the same crackling gentleness of fireplace heat, “I don’t hate you.”

Earlier, when walking in town, Anakin said it because it was something to prove and something to deny. Then he made up for all the things he said and did to give Obi-Wan that impression in the first place. 

Now he said it to provide that last piece, that answer— if he didn’t hate Obi-Wan then surely he must feel something else, surely there was an undercurrent of something that pricked at the silk thread between them. His words said I don’t hate you and they almost- almost admitted what he did feel instead. 

Anakin’s hand gripped the doorknob to shut Obi-Wan alone again, to leave to his couch bed and say no more on the matter. Let it exist and expand and invade his thoughts with no rest, because how could Obi-Wan breathe for all the overwhelming urge inside him. In a second he felt cosmos, he felt everything and all he did was stand and watch Anakin smile softly, a look he never saw before for all it’s intimacy. It existed, as so many things did, just between them. 

“Good night, Obi-Wan. And Merry Christmas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s only one chapter left after this one :)  
> I’m CONSIDERING making it a series and including a part 2 epilogue type thing with perhaps some Spice but... I am undecided. (do I have it entirely planned out and mostly written? Yes. but have I made up my mind? No)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhhh this is it!!! also my ability to proofread disappeared so if this chapter has more mistakes that usual.... my bad

The sun rose on a town coated in fresh powdered snow- shining and calm, the panic of one household not bleeding over into the gentle purity of the morning. Bells softly tolled, rolling chimes through the landscape, mixing in with the faint, subdued shuffling of the few animals not in hibernation and the excited but sleepy waking of people. One by one, in the grey dawn, lights turned on and children burst out of bed, lovers brushed with kisses and embraces- a number of welcomes and blissful celebrations. 

Outside one house, a number of cars clustered- one of them dented from running into not one but two trees the night before. And strung up lights twinkled both inside and out as two pairs of excited and socked feet rushed down the stairs. 

“Just stockings right now! No opening anything until everyone’s up!” Qui-Gon instructed after the twins, bustling into the family room with festive energy. It was too early, and really he was getting too old for this, but they lit up his world as they plopped down by the Christmas tree, giggling at one another in the soft grey light of morning. 

Anakin sat curled up on his couch bed, still covered in layers of blankets and with a new mug in his hands. Shmi woke him with the promise of fresh coffee and squeezed the cup in his hands as soon as he sat up. 

Qui-Gon stooped and kissed the top of his wife’s head, and she warmly preened under his affection. “I’ll go round up the others,” he announced, giving her hand a final squeeze. He groaned dramatically as he started up the stairs. Anakin watched the sweet, adoring smile on his mother’s face as she watched him before turning her eyes back to the twins. 

Through a yawn, Anakin asked, “Did Padmé ever get back last night?” He tried blinking sleep out of his eyes but still nestled in all his blankets as he was, trying to shed those last slips of fatigue proved impossible. 

“The car’s back,” Shmi nodded, “But I haven’t seen or heard either one of them.” A wry look saddened her face but only for a flicker. Leia popped up and pattered to Anakin’s side to show him one of her gifts and deliver his stocking. She insisted that even if the others weren’t up, he also needed to get started (and she said the reason they weren’t up was simply because “they’re lame and still asleep.”)

From the upstairs Qui-Gon’s rumbling voice echoed down, “Good morning, Merry Christmas,” and its reply was a crisp “Merry Christmas” that anticipated Obi-Wan’s arrival. While the family gathered together all remained comfortably in pajamas, he appeared freshly showered and properly dressed. He stepped down from the stairs wrapped in a cozy knit sweater and with still-damp hair. Anakin burrowed further into his blankets and pulled his knees close to his chest because such a simple sight shouldn’t make his heart skip a beat. If there weren’t people around he would groan and lament his stupidity.

Obi-Wan and Padmé. Obi-Wan was _dating_ Padmé. And apparently that didn’t stop him from imagining all sorts of things and wishing for so much in their night together, wanting to read more into each touch and each glance, wanting to admit everything in a phrase as bland and unclear as “I don’t hate you.” And Obi-Wan was only ever a gentleman. Surely none of those feelings were reciprocated. They couldn’t be. So Anakin let his sleep muddled eyes follow the twins’ movements, tracing as they hopped up and rushed to Obi-Wan’s side. They wanted to show him all their little stocking stuffers, and when they did his face lit up. He kneeled to their level, and marveled at every little thing they stuck in his hands and face. He even let them cling to his sides, two great sandbags of weight that he swung on either leg to walk the few steps into the family room. They giggled as he groaned with feigned exertion, but then they remembered their gifts and freed him to celebrate once more. 

The kitchen doors swung open and Barriss came out with two mugs in hand. “This was supposed to be for Ahsoka—“ she handed one to Obi-Wan. 

“I couldn’t take it then-“ he tried but Barriss shook her head and made him accept it. 

“If she’s too lazy to get up then she’ll just have to wait for another pot. That’s her fault.” She sat down on the opposite end of Anakin’s couch, shoving half his blankets aside. She woke early with Shmi to make sure everything was prepared for their meals later in the day, but of course breakfast was still Obi-Wan’s matter. 

Anakin tried to swallow and stifle another yawn, but it came out with his words (he tried for nonchalance but missed the mark) “Car’s outside, so looks like they made it back at some point.” He delivered the news to Obi-Wan, who raised an eyebrow curiously. 

“Oh?” Genuine relief filled his face, but he did not have the time to ask more. He could have anyway, but the stairs creaked and more of the family arrived. Sabé, followed by Qui-Gon, and Ahsoka stumbling last, poorly covering her yawns and sleep bubbles floating about her head. Their inability to wake up was one of many ways her and Anakin were much the same. 

“I’ll go make that fresh pot,” Shmi announced with an amused smile, pressing a kiss to Ahsoka’s cheek (she groggily accepted it). 

Sabé sat on the floor with the twins and clearly having heard Anakin, asked “If they’re awake then why haven’t either of them come down yet?” The two in question, the very obvious absentees, which no one had seen since the whole scene at dinner the night before. 

“I could go check on them,” Obi-Wan offered, already half standing back up but Qui-Gon waved a dismissive hand. 

_Almost_ no one had seen them. “Just let them come down on their own,” he said in a kind though confused tone that left little room for argument. Some befuddlement flickered on his face with no obvious source, and remained even when Satine appeared. She hurried down the stairs unaware of her audience. Clearly still dressed in yesterday’s clothes, she kept trying to pull her hair out of her face and looked wildly unsure of herself. 

“Where’s Padmé?” Anakin asked, peeping up like a bird in his nest. 

Satine shocked with the question, eyes scanning the group. Her mouth opened and shut before she pulled it in a right smile, but her eyes still sparkled with panic. “What— oh, yes she- she took the other stairs— she’s in the kitchen.” The tight look stayed as Satine hovered, not folding herself into the group as she should have. She met Obi-Wan's eyes, and he frowned, but no more was said. 

And it was indeed in the kitchen where Shmi found her daughter, already brewing the new pot of coffee. She looked gloomy, standing and watching each slow brown drip as the pot almost finished. So focused was her staring that she hardly reacted to her mother’s warm “Good morning.”

Padmé blinked and that was about it. 

“Merry Christmas.” Shmi tried again, leaning against her desk. With another failure she sighed, “Come on honey, I—“

“You don’t have to say anything.” She squeezed her eyes shut, and in opening them only stared at her empty mug. Her voice sounded cold and unfeeling. 

The kitchen doors swung open and Qui-Gon stepped in, still with that half-lost look. His bifocals were pushed high on his forehead and he made quite the comfortable image in his holiday pajamas and slippers. “Good morning,” and he nodded to Padmé, something knowing in his eyes. 

“Not now, Qui,” Shmi sighed, a pleasing look meeting his. 

“Oh— right,” he hovered and she motioned between herself and Pamdé. He gave a slow nod and stepped back out of the swinging doors. Once more the kitchen fell quiet, with only the drip and hum of their coffee maker to fill silence. That was, until Padmé cleared her throat. 

Shmi took a breath and tightened her shawl around herself. “I think you and I need to get something straight,” but for all her seriousness, her face pulled with a sad smile, begging Padmé to look and indulge her. 

“Here we go—“

“You had a charmed life, dear— I blame myself! I really do.” Padmé still stared at the counter, no effort of a smile at all. 

“Mom, you’ve never made anyone’s life any easier—“ They weren’t really arguing, just gearing up for some confession that Padmé wanted to put off and Shmi absolutely didn’t. She wanted to promise her daughter all the affection in the world, and Padmé (embarrassed and nursing a hangover) felt too horrible enough already to accept it. 

“And what do you know about it?”

“Oh, I know a little.” Padmé finally met her eyes and something teasing glinted between them. It led to nothing more than a futile quirk at Padmé’s lips before she fell into the same sullen expression. 

Shmi heaved a great sigh again, but it wasn’t a weary and exasperated one. It pleaded, begged Padmé to listen to her. It heaved with all the love in the world, her own walls weathering away so Padmé might find comfort and honesty with her. “Whatever this is— whatever you’re trying to do—“

“Mom—“ Padmé’s lip quivered a little. It was a desperate little thing, the accumulation of all the stress and responsibility she placed on herself blown away in a puff. All her anxieties over everything felt so silly but still entirely overwhelming. Everything with Obi-Wan, everything with Satine— Shmi opened her arms and hugged Padmé, the first _real_ hug since she’d been home. It was the first time Padmé _let_ herself be hugged and truly hugged back. She practically melted in Shmi’s arms, all tension leaked out and she could feel a few hot tears against her cheek- and she didn’t even know whose they were. 

Shmi pulled back enough to hold her daughter, to look at her and both see and be seen. “I know this is probably a tall order, but I need you to do me a favor and _try_ not to be so perfect— Alright?”

“I’m not perfect,” Padmé’s voice wobbled. She sniffed and wiped at her eyes. Shmi chased the touches with her own hands, tucking Padmé’s hair out of her face and looking into those great big, brown, tear glassy eyes.

“Okay,” she said, entirely unbelieving. “I just… I would hate to see you miss out on something because you have this picture in your mind… or you thought you could change something you can’t. I’d hate to see you not find what you _really_ want. Oh— but Padmé, it’s your life, and it’s _your_ decision.” She tucked another strand away to caress her daughter’s cheek. They managed to look at one another before Shmi pressed their foreheads together. They breathed in shaky unison, a wave of sentimentality and love creating through them. Her mother pointed to her own chest and mouthed more than voiced a watery “I— _love_ you.” 

Padmé knew that. Padmé _always_ knew that— even before Shmi was officially and legally her mother and all of those details, she _knew._ She never stopped knowing, none of them did. But instead she let her fears loom so large in her head they overshadowed reality, they overshadowed and undying and brilliantly bright love that wove between the two of them, that stretched and spread out to bind everyone in their family. Of course they loved her, and when they were concerned for her it was out of love, so her fear— her fear that made her do something absurd as drag Obi-Wan here and _lie_ — well yes, it was all rather silly. Padmé laughed, “Oh, Mom— I’ve been so stupid.”

Shmi smiled, an oozingly affectionate look that said _My Padmé? Stupid? Never_. So she tried to admit it, the desire for truth bubbled up in her so violently, so ready to spew over. “Obi-Wan and I, we aren’t—“

But the kitchen doors swung again. They knew what a sight they made, the two of them sitting and clinging to another with blotchy and wet cheeks. Padmé took a rallying breath, “Satine.”

“Oh!” The woman turned. Just as she came down the stairs, she walked into the kitchen in some urgent, self important hurry and only now noticed the pair. She paused and pivoted, not sure whether to stay or go. “I’m sorry— I can just—“

Sabé followed right behind her and cared not at all for the tension and tears in the kitchen. She slid in on socked feet and exclaimed “Come on! Let’s get the show on the road— Luke and Leia are only going to wait so long!”

Shmi pressed a soothing kiss to Padmé’s forehead and then stood straight again. “Of course— presents!” She shook her hands and wrapped an arm around Padmé’s “Yes, we’ll go open presents.” And she ushered them all back into the family room so Satine’s errand and Padmé’s words all left behind and withered in the kitchen. 

Not left behind though was the still unanswered question:

“So where _were_ you last night?”

Anakin asked it as soon as they all gathered in the family room. He finally shook off all his sleep and fatigue, sat up straighter and watched attentively. With everyone together and presents, finally celebrating all together, being their main goal, neither one of them could duck out and escape the question. No one even bothered lapping over it with idle conversation because, well, everyone but Qui-Gon seemed interested in the answer. 

“Let’s hand out gifts,” he rallied his youngest two. Obi-Wan reached a hand out to Padmé, which she took with less reassurance than she had in earlier days. 

Softly he asked, “Do we need to talk?” but she could not answer, even as she sat at his side and they twined together like the imitation lovers they were. 

She could not answer because Padmé’s attention instead caught on the way Satine announced “Oh— I’ve brought something for everyone.” She pulled out a black case and unzipped it. It revealed a stack of identical presents, each a long rectangle, thin like the lid of a box, and wrapped in rich blue paper with silver ribbon. Each immaculate, and one for every child as well as the parents— an extensive labor of love or intense devotion. Once passed around, they paused. Satine stood in the middle of the room. She failed in pinning her hair out of her face, so very little distracted from her still frazzled appearance. “Well-“ she urged, “open them.”

Every gift appeared the same because they were the same— seven of the same picture, framed identically and simply. Shmi pushed away the tissue paper first to reveal it, and inhaled with awe. It begged a black and white image of her, backlit by the window of this very room they all sat in, and in each arm rested a bundled baby. The twins, from the day they were adopted. “I found the original on Padmé’s desk years ago… I always thought it was beautiful. I—“ only silence met her. “I’m sorry if it’s—“

It had to be years that she planned this, at least five years that she stared at a picture of a family that was not her own, stared at it with longing and desired to only show them how much they meant. Even though she and Padmé drifted, this family, this picture, and this love that was so tremendous captivated her, so she saved it away for when she could finally show them that bit of her heart. 

“Thank you,” Shmi looked up, beaming at her two youngest and then at Satine. Again, she melted with teariness that she tried to wipe away and smile through. At her side, Qui-Gon looked the same, all his gentleness pouring out and enveloping her. 

“You did good, Satine.” He praised, squeezing his wife’s hand. 

Obi-Wan wished the feeling rested deeper in him and didn’t simmer at the surface, he wished he could watch this family and just appreciate them and not feel this itching of not belonging. It did not color itself as envy, but as a very heavy displacement, that though they welcomed him, it was under a guise, and truly, at the end of it all, he shouldn’t be there. Even Satine belonged, with her history and her love, the love Shmi always held for her, so obvious even if Anakin hadn’t so kindly pointed it out. “ _Like a daughter in law_ ” he said, and Obi-Wan believed it. 

He slipped from Padmé’s side and did not bother giving her a last reassuring and performative kiss on the cheek or other kindness. Instead he stood and excused, “I’m going to put breakfast in the oven.”

Like dominoes, or an electric fire, his first toppling brick of insecurity sparked something in Satine. She stood amidst praise, amidst acceptance, but suddenly jumped out of the prize she longed for into the same flighty individual she had been only minutes before. “I’ll help you!” She offered - pleaded really - despite the very obvious superfluidity of her aid, and she ushered them both into the kitchen, pushing rather than following. 

“Did I miss something?” Ahsoka (still fighting sleep) asked Barriss in a stage whisper and even Barriss, though she followed things easier, admitted she had no idea. 

Padmé sat awkwardly, alone on the loveseat, for both her companions had left her, and _still_ the question lingered unanswered. So once more, Anakin stepped up and voiced it. 

“Okay, so _where_ were you? Obi-Wan and I looked for hours.” Which clearly did nothing to explain that Anakin slowly but resolutely stopped minding the passing time, stopped minding all the things about Obi-Wan that he wanted to hate. Instead he began to crave his open laugh and inviting smile. Oh but of course if Padmé hadn’t run off he wouldn’t be in this position— conflicted for _perhaps_ developing feelings for _him_ of all people!

She cringed, “I took her to Dex’s—“

“You took her to a _bar_ — I spent all night searching the town with _your boyfriend_ and you took her to a _bar_ ?!” Anakin gaped. Okay sure, maybe they could have done a better job looking, but he _never_ would guess that _Padmé_ would do something like that. If he weren’t so put out, he would be proud. 

“Yes, well,” Padmé paused, groaned, and dropped her head into her hands. “About that…”

-

Satine followed barely a step behind: as soon as Obi-Wan stood in the kitchen, so did she. He noticed the unmistakable brig and frantic shine to her eyes and she kept pulling self consciously at her shirt from yesterday. It wasn’t even particularly wrinkled or dirty, only her own actions drew attention to it. Where she vibrated with some yet unshared news, Obi-Wan met it with concern. “Did you two get back okay? Did you sleep well?” His face creased as he studied all signs of her well being but Satine waved her hands. She didn’t intend on discussing such unimportant things. 

“Well…” he waited for her to continue. She didn’t, so he echoed the question answered a room away, where he did not hear it. 

“Where were you last night?”

Satine sighed. Her shoulders rose up with tension and she wobbled her head before answering, “I don’t— We went to some bar, got drunk, and—“ she saved a hand. “I can’t tell you.” She looked at the hem of her shirt, rolled between the tips of her fingers and did not meet his imploring gaze. 

“What do you mean you can’t tell me?” She wrapped her arms around herself and briefly met his eyes. It was some play at insecurity, amplified by another nervousness, and slowly the pieces of it clicked together in his head. “No— _Satine_. You didn’t—“ He tried not to smile. Perhaps his plan wasn’t so idiotic afterall. 

“I’m so ashamed,” she said without a trace of regret in her voice - much like Padmé when she roped him into this whole mess. 

“Satine,” Obi-Wan placed his hands on her shoulders and tried not to laugh when she looked so pitiful. “Why are you ashamed? You know Padmé and I aren’t really— if you _slept_ with her it doesn’t change anything between us. I’m _happy_ for you.” Because at least then someone had a nice, torment free night. 

Satine made an exasperated noise in her throat. “It’s not fair to Padmé.” Then she frowned with something resembling her usual superior dignity. “ _Why_ did you bring me here?”

He waited until the confrontation drained from her gaze. “Satine, you’re two consenting adults, yes? And you’re infuriatingly infatuated with one another and have been for years, longer than I’ve known either of you. No— I’m not even going to say that, because you’re _head over heels_ for her and _maybe_ you can finally realize that _you_ deserve to love her, or I swear to god I’ll go grey and you’ll all be the death of me.” Obi-Wan stared at her, eyes wide and waiting for his words to sink in. Satine looked less guilty, and aimed less misdirected fury at him. His eyes crinkled up in a smile. “Great— Now help me get this strata in the oven before I grow weary of you.”

Satine managed a fond, if placating, smile before her eyes widening again. This time it was with internal mortification, “Qui-Gon saw me in her bed this morning!”

Obi-Wan was just trying to open the fridge, trying to cook the strata he so painstakingly prepared the day before. “Satine, you two were already sharing the room, I’m sure he thought nothing of it.”

She dragged a hand down her face, clearly disagreeing. But either way, there was nothing to do about it now, so she grumbled and decided to actually be helpful. “Go set the oven, I’ll grab the trays.”

Barely an inch of separation grew between them before Anakin’s loud (always loud but in this case notably louder) voice shouted “Oh my god! Padmé!” Obi-Wan stared a little dumbstruck but then shrugged, deciding it wasn’t his business. Satine finally opened the fridge and ducked down to grab the two prepared trays. Neither she nor Obi-Wan really had the chance to wonder much further about the exclamation; then a commotion sounded and the kitchen door slammed open. 

Or tried to slam open at least— it rammed into the refrigerator door instead and with a horrible domino effect, knocked into Satine, jostling her arms carrying the uncovered dishes. 

Her arms flew up with the shock of it and while she managed to keep one pan in her hands, the other clattered down. In the doorway, Anakin and Pamdé gawped. Shmi peered in right behind and breathed a barely consoling “Oh no—“

Satine stood covered in strata. Egg mixture dripped onto the floor and seeped into her clothes. The second dish thankfully did not shatter, but splattered when it landed at Obi-Wan’s feet. For all his usual composure, he gasped and covered his mouth with one hand, eyes wide and comical. “Oh my god—“

“Oh, Satine,” Shmi scooted around her children and switched into doting mother hen mode. She took the remaining tray (both were empty, their contents spilled quite spectacularly on the floor and on Satine). “It’s alright sweetie, let’s just get this off and you’ll be fine.” Tomato, onions, olives and bread decorated the mess. Obi-Wan was too shocked to even be offended that all he had to give the family went to waste. 

Instead he turned to Padmé and Anakin, still crowding wide eyed and open mouthed in the doorway. His mouth opened with the query ready in his lips as to why they even burst in here in the first place. But he didn’t voice it in time and watched Anakin’s shock at seeing Satine turn into some vicious determination. He pointed a finger accusingly, all focus centered on Obi-Wan. “You’re not even dating!”

“Oh. I see.” Obi-Wan saw Padmé’s resigned look. So she had finally admitted it. Better now than never really, and considering the development between her and Satine, it was a relief. It was over! The whole ridiculous lie of it all could be forgotten as some mad joke, a blip on the path to her and Satine finally getting together, but Anakin’s expression wasn’t amused at all.

Shmi led Satine over to the sink and made some small progress in cleaning off egg mixture from what was once a nice business shirt. Obi-Wan prepared to defend himself but Satine, still covered in breakfast, with her hair a mess and face growing blotchy, cried out “I’m just as good as any of you!” Her voice wavered and she _knew_ the sight she made. 

“Of course you are, dear.” Shmi tried for a cheerful note and pulled out more paper towels. “Better, probably!”

Anakin’s face still frowned with a volley of accusations rearing up to go, but then Sabé pushed into the crowd. She wove in with a “What’s all the noise—“ but cut herself off and at least whispered her soft, surprised “oh no” to herself as soon as she saw. It rose up into the great cacophony of everything else and Satine threw her hands up. 

“This is just great— I mean, it’s just perfect. It’s not like I haven’t been humiliated enough!” 

“Satine,” Padmé came further into the kitchen, no longer lingering in the doorway. She sounded far too sympathetic for Satine’s liking. “It’s not like that—“

“Oh, it’s not? This isn’t exactly the moment you’ve all been waiting for?” She waved a hand to her once elegant and now strata covered shirt. She certainly didn’t look at the kitchen doorway to see Ahsoka and Qui-Gon peering in. “You all hate me so much!”

“Satine, that’s not true,” Qui-Gon tried. She wasn’t as bothered as she could be about the growing audience because really how much worse could things get?

“No— I get it! I know what you see! Satine the- the spoiled… crazy… _bitch_ , right? That’s what you all think? That’s—” She sniffed, and a bit of olive slid off her hand. “That’s what you all see when you look at me. Not like all of you— She comes all the way up here to ruin Christmas and- and then she _sleeps with Padmé?!_ ” 

And see, since the dating ruse was already out in the open, surely that should have been the biggest secret, the biggest surprise for the day. But Satine’s confession hung there, and Obi-Wan cringed, and after a beat Anakin finally, inelegantly broke the silence shouted “ _What?”_ Sabé, much more subtly, mouthed _oh shit._

Satine bit her lip, her words catching up to her. She whispered like she didn’t just make a proclamation moments before. “I- I slept with Padmé—“

“You slept with _who?”_ Anakin’s eyes flashed between Satine and Obi-Wan and then to his sister. 

“With _whom_ -“ Qui-Gon corrected unhelpfully. 

Padmé shifted away from her family crowded in the doorway and looked only at Satine, “Excuse me— Can we just go back for a minute?” She sputtered and stepped around the Great Strata Mess on the floor. “We did not—“

“What’s the use-“ Satine huffed and accidentally smeared tomato across her cheek. Shmi wet another paper towel and kept trying to work stains out of Satine’s shirt. 

“ _Satine—_ “ Padmé implored, “We did _not_ sleep together.”

Aside from Barriss, still sitting blissfully with the twins, the whole family stood about just watching with little to do. Obi-Wan and Padmé hovered in the middle, on opposite sides of the egg puddle and discarded dish, and the rest of the voyeurs still huddled in the doorway. And despite that, Satine whispered her “What?” like any of this could be private or intimate between just her and Padmé. “... We didn’t?” Her face drained. 

“No.” Padmé emphasized, seeking to relieve Satine. She tried smiling a little, and a pause stretched out like Satine might collect herself.

Instead she groaned “Isn't there anybody that loves me?”

“Oh sweetie-“ Shmi consoled. Padmé tried to go to her but in all her hesitant stepping slipped and slid right into the mess on the floor. She groaned, laying with her back now covered in soggy bread and tomato. 

Satine’s desperate wailing turned to laughter too, even when she huffed “What’s so great about you guys?!”

“Nothing—“ Padmé answered from the ground. Gross breakfast mess seeped into her clothes as well and she mused, “We’re not so great.”

Shmi nodded sympathetically. “It’s just— We’re all we’ve got.” The same sort of pathetic and self deprecating laughter blipped and simmered between all three women. 

And the opposite to that amusement was the return of Anakin’s pointedly accusing finger, which was not humorous at all. “You—“

“Me?” Obi-Wan busied himself helping Padmé up, but with her out of the way only the lingering mess separated him from Anakin’s wrath. 

“You!” He repeated with more conviction and Obi-Wan didn’t even have time to voice his _oh dear_ before Anakin leaped over the puddle. His only option was to sprint out the other door. 

“You lied this _whole_ time!” Anakin shouted. They passed the twins in the family room then stalled in another doorway as Obi-Wan tried to escape. He leaned to one side, then the other but Anakin followed his movements and did not let him dart away. Much like old cartoon characters they bobbed and wove. Obi-Wan tried to be considerate of this house and these belongings that were not his and Anakin showed no such restraint in his pursuit. 

“I think you’ll find _Padmé_ lied and I just went along with it—“ he ducked into the dining room and didn’t miss the unbridled rage on Anakin’s face. Of _all_ the mornings—

“I felt so—“ Anakin stammered, lunging to the other end of the table and once more they feinted to either side of this great obstacle between them. “You made me feel _so_ guilty for hating you!” 

“I thought-” cutting himself off, Obi-Wan tried to be careful of the dining room chairs. That phrase from last night rang in his head, _I don’t hate you_. He and Anakin, moving around the table, just circled one another, but Obi-Wan did not doubt the real possibility Anakin would just leap over the thing and assault him. 

“This whole time, for _Padmé’s_ sake, I had to like you!” 

Obi-Wan made a face, then laughed, “Oh- well that’s just not true and you did a _very_ poor job of it.” Anakin dove again so Obi-Wan escaped through the nearest door, back into the kitchen. 

And Satine, Shmi and Padmé all sat slumped against the cabinets on the floor, laughing and maybe crying and still gross with egg and herb. Obi-Wan stopped himself enough to see them, and breathed a sympathetic “Oh my.” But they laughed more than cried, even in their pile and their mess. 

But before he could say much else, Anakin came sliding in and tackled him to the floor. He slapped and pushed at Obi-Wan until they rolled under the kitchen table “Why’d you do it?“ Anakin grunted. Obi-Wan tried to force him off to no avail. 

“I didn’t _know_ —“ There was so much he hadn’t known, both before and after he’d agreed to it. Certainly he never could have expected things to end up like _this_. Even if anticipating the inevitable exposure of his and Padmé’s ruse, Anakin’s very personal affront was a surprise— and so was the whole strata ordeal. 

“Didn’t know you’d be lying to our _family_?” Anakin slapped at his face again, elbowing his way above Obi-Wan. 

“I didn’t— _Would you stop_ —“ Obi-Wan rolled and shoved Anakin off him. He forced his shoulders to the ground instead, getting the upper hand. His foot hit the table leg and it gave a frighteningly unstable jerk. “Of course I knew it was unfair towards your family but I couldn’t possibly—“ he grabbed Anakin’s wrists to get him to stop fidgeting and fighting, “I couldn’t have known just how much I would be lying to _you_.” 

Of course Anakin chased him all around the bottom floor of the house and spent a night denying feelings only to now, when confronted with them, look at Obi-Wan with disbelief. “I-“ oh no, he didn’t have the cold to blame for the pink in his cheeks anymore. 

“Alright Padmé,” Qui-Gon’s voice sounded unseen from above the table, a surveyor to the mess in the kitchen. “What’s going on?” And the girls still breathlessly giggled on the floor. They made no further effort to try cleaning, just laughed— and gaped at where they could see Anakin red faced and gaping. No wall or bubble separated them: the rest of the family could easily watch Anakin sputter. Padmé laughed even louder, very poorly concealed behind one hand. 

But his father’s voice startled Anakin out of just laying there, pressed down and staring at Obi-Wan. He jerked a knee up, causing his leg to knock into the table. It was the last straw the old rickety things needed and after already getting jostled from the excitement, it tumbled and careened over to the side with a great clattering. The three by the sink laughed even louder and the noise rose up enough to conceal Obi-Wan gently repeating, only for Anakin, “I didn’t know,” and Anakin’s equally soft answer “ _oh_.”

-

Getting cleaned up proved a nightmare, because after trying to stand up and just slipping again, all three women took far too many attempts to get back on their feet— and by then they were soaked in egg and Shmi had mushroom sticking to her legs while a tomato clung to Satine’s shirt. Qui-Gon stepped in with the mop and ushered them out of the kitchen, picking food remnants off them. Barriss at least offered to help while Ahsoka and the twins begged off with the resounding excuse that “no, that’s gross.” Sabé helped Anakin fix the table up and told Obi-Wan to go get himself cleaned up as well. Their kitchen melted back into near normal routines once the desk could finally stand again. Sabé set the last paper back on top and crossed her arms.

“Wait, so _what_ is going on with you and Obi-Wan?”

Anakin groaned— Qui-Gon certainly did not scrub the floor with unnatural preoccupation and no telling sparkle shone in his eye. Anakin shook his head, refusing to answer. 

She sighed, “Fine- then let’s get that cut on your face cleaned up.”

She grabbed their med kit and a cold pack, and led him back to the family room like a child. If it were up to him he likely would never deal with the small meaningless injuries. They rejoined their siblings in the other room. “Are we allowed to look at more presents?” Luke whisper-asked, his eyes big as saucers. 

Anakin ruffled his hair, “Of course- everyone should be back down in a minute.” Luke plopped back on the floor with Leia, satisfied to open a model spaceship that he wove around the air, marveling at it. Sabé caught him off guard, dabbing disinfectant above his eyebrow while he still watched the twins. He hissed. 

She sighed, “If you weren’t such an idiot-“ he nudged her side in annoyance. “Here-“ she slapped the first aid kit into his hands. “Go undo whatever damage you’ve done.” She fixed his hands securely around the pack and shooed him off the couch. 

Anakin petulantly stomped up the stairs in time to see Barriss and Qui-Gon finished cleaning. His hands already felt a little shaky. Not once in chasing him around the house did Anakin hesitate, but now in delivering first aid he practically trembled with unease. At the top of the stairs, he shifted and knocked lightly on the doorframe. “Obi-Wan?”

“You don’t have to wait for an invitation— it’s _your_ room.” The room’s old movie posters and celestial charts watched him. Certainly not the first time these walls were privy to his bumbling idiocy. Anakin looked at him sheepishly from the doorway before stepping in, holding the kit like an explanation, an excuse to enter. Obi-Wan sat down on the bed, waving Anakin in. “You aren’t going to hit me this time?”

“No,” Anakin shook his head, not able to come up with a joke. 

Obi-Wan watched the self conscious tension in Anakin’s shoulders- the unsure way he moved and held his hand out “Bring it here.” The cold peck felt wonderful on his developing bruises, but less pleasing was the way Anakin began to draw away instantly. Obi-Wan gently gripped and tugged him closer, but still Anakin refused to sit. It was too similar to the anchoring press of Obi-Wan’s mittened hand on him the night before. 

“Here, let me-“ his hands shook as he clicked open the first aid kit, but Obi-Wan took the opportunity to gentle Anakin into sitting down. They exhaled and tandem before Anakin managed a tight smile. 

Already, Obi-Wan had a bruise blooming high on his cheek from Anakin tackling him to the floor. Lifting his hand, Obi-Wan tucked a curl out of Anakin’s face, revealing the cut above his eye. Matching injuries on their right sides— Anakin’s eyes fluttered up to the reddened bruise on Obi-Wan’s face and guilt curled in his gut. Even with that guilt, the caressing touch against the shell of his ear felt so tender. It was the first real touch, aside from their fighting, that happened without gloves or clothing in the way. “You don’t have to say anything, or explain yourself… and I won’t hit you again, no matter what.”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan’s hand dropped so both rested between them, shifting the cold pack pointlessly. Anakin didn’t know how to beg him to put it back, to do anything to keep the contact between them. Obi-Wan’s voice softened, “You don’t have to pretend not to be bothered— I’d say it’s rather too late for that.” He hummed a humorless laugh, rolling his eyes because he was sure to feel the pain from landing on his back for a while to come. “And I would also like to think you don’t hate me nearly as much as you keep saying.”

“Maybe not,” Anakin ducked his head, biting his lip with a guilty smile. “Are you hurt anywhere else?” 

Obi-Wan shrugged, “Possibly a bruise on my hip—“

“That makes you sound like _such_ an old man.”

“Well if _someone_ hadn’t chased me around and tackled me.” 

Anakin cringed— his own little injuries meant nothing compared to his embarrassment. With jerky, unsure movements he took the cold pack back and lifted it up to press it to Obi-Wan’s cheek for himself. It felt like the most he could do. That, and he longed for anything between them. He really did want Obi-Wan’s hand back by his ear, or running fingers lightly along his brow bone, the curve of his cheek, his hairline and anywhere else he wanted until the end of their days. He’d never craved anyone or anything as he did this. “I feel that I’ve ruined your Christmas,” he admitted, sounding very much like an upset child. 

“Not at all.” Obi-Wan’s smile could light up anything— as dazzling (perhaps more so) as binary suns, or as warm and caring as the fire in their hearth and their well loved decorations. Home and comfort and _love_ — and he leaned in a little, his eyes so amazingly blue. “Though I’d much prefer if you ever bruise me again, it’s under different circumstances.”

“I— you _what_ ?” Anakin couldn’t bring himself to pull away entirely, not when Obi-Wan’s lip pulled up just a little at the corner, and he gave one of those endearing all-teeth smiles again. But he did drop his hand and sort of stare, shocked and flushed and _awed_. 

“ _Anakin_.” Oh he could hang on to that distinct lilt to his own name for a very long time. No one else should ever get to say it ever again but Obi-Wan. There were all sorts of things he didn’t want anyone else to ever do again, just Obi-Wan. “May I finally kiss you?”

“Oh- _yes_.” Anakin answered far too eagerly and tried to backtrack— “Well, I mean— oh, fuck of course, yes.”

Obi-Wan shook his head as he leaned in that tiny bit left between them. Anakin’s whole body lit with it— not because it was some dazzling, end of the movie, earth shattering kiss, but because it felt _right_ . It was warmth to the pit of his stomach and heat on their lips and the taste of coffee and mint and sugar. He wanted to be wrapped up in it- in _him_ \- just Obi-Wan with his hand cradling Anakin’s jaw— a coarseness to his fingers he wanted to study every detail of. He did not even think, did not even hesitate when he tried to press closer, let Obi-Wan have him and hold him and even devour him if he wanted. 

“You’re freezing, dear one.” he breathed into the space between them, but Anakin never felt such heat all the way through to the core of himself. 

“I told you, I’m always cold.” Anakin tried, leaning back in, but Obi-Wan’s eyes aimed to hold him and still him. Anakin wouldn’t be deterred, not when he wanted this too much. _Dear one_ — he’d never been called something like that before. He wanted to hear it again. “Hope it’s not going to frighten you away.”

“Oh please-“ thankfully _Obi-Wan_ leaned back in and Anakin wasn’t reduced to begging for it. His beard scratched along Anakin’s neck before lips traced his jaw. His breath came out stuttered. 

“Whatever happened to your prudish ways? I thought you found— _fucking_ in a childhood bedroom inappropriate?” And everything be damned if Anakin didn’t catch the way that word sparked something in Obi-Wan— something darker and his eyes and a catching nip at his skin. A swooping heat at just the mention. 

Obi-Wan laughed harshly but not unkindly, a biting sound that made Anakin feel the teeth on his throat. “Again, that was all Padmé, and I think even she suddenly isn’t so restrained.”

Anakin pulled back and shook his head a little, “Oh- ew, gross— do not make me think about what my _sister_ gets up to.” They sat with their limbs overlapping naturally, legs and arms slotted between one another, taking up nearly the exact same space. Despite the dramatic disgust on Anakin’s face, Obi-Wan grinned all too pleased with himself. “Okay I may have been wrong about you being a square, but I _wasn’t_ wrong that you’re so—“

“Oh come on,” Obi-Wan’s shit eating grin only stretched, “I think it was a wonderful plan, and clearly turned out quite well for the both of them.” 

Anakin hummed a noncommittal “mmm right, well done for you,” before slotting their lips back together. Obi-Wan’s delight was infectious, even when trying to berate him. He only wanted that, that perfect feeling, wanted Obi-Wan licking into his mouth and swallowing each other’s moans, for hours, years, a lifetime. 

Obi-Wan pulled back, his face creased with that familiar pull between his eyebrows, “Wait- when did you call me a square?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Before he could lean back in - Anakin’s lips hovered hungrily just above the column of Obi-Wan’s throat, almost covered by his sensible sweater - a floorboard creaked. Ahsoka stood in the doorway, arms crossed as she eyed them. “If you two are finished—“ her voice startled Anakin into jerking away, throwing himself away from Obi-Wan and closer to the headboard, as if she hadn’t already seen them. Flush shone high on his cheeks from a mixture of pleasure and budding embarrassment. Obi-Wan only looked calmly satisfied. “...We’re all still waiting downstairs.” She finished, eyes narrowing further at Anakin as he nodded. She ducked back out and he all too quickly clambered back to his feet. 

Obi-Wan, slower and much more sure of himself, gathered up the first aid kit and cold pack, “Anakin,” he turned the other man back around, keeping him from rushing out the door. This kiss was slow and soft and sweet, almost just a brush of lips. This one, more than the others, promised something, to both of them and _for_ both of them. 

Anakin loved Christmas. For all he hated the cold, he _loved_ Christmas. He loved his family, and warm drinks and Christmas music and movies because despite how much he pretended to be angry and spiteful all the time, inside he was gush and sentimentality. Coming home, wrapping himself once more in nostalgia and warmth, love and cherished memories, he looked forward to it year round with often deeply concealed excitement. Which made this the first time in his life he almost dreaded the day— going back downstairs and rejoining everything and knowing the end of it marked a finale: Obi-Wan’s duty completed. After today, he could leave. They would part ways. And this one absurd holiday would pass into funny memories and nothing more. 

“We have to go join them,” Anakin said despite the ache in his throat. His eyes darted about before meeting Obi-Wan’s. Meet them, rejoin, resettle, and this moment would pass into nothing. That was his fear. This kiss a fleeting thing and this holiday just a great mix up. It could mean something more for Padmé and Satine, since they already knew one another, already had a basis for all of this to matter. But for them— Anakin felt terrified it would devolve into nothing. 

Once more a hand reached up and brushed above his eye. The gentle swipe of a calloused thumb that was enough to send all those fears flying away. A nervous smile pulled at Obi-Wan’s lips then he asked, “Anakin. What are you doing for New Years?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YES I am going to make a part 2– consider it an epilogue. it will also just be an excuse to write :) some smut

**Author's Note:**

> Ta-da! It’s finished! Thank you so much for reading this, it’s completely self indulgent and I’ve appreciated all the comments and kudos so much!  
> Please come yell at me on [tumblr](https://lowstandards.tumblr.com)  
> And comments very much appreciated I am a simple man begging for attention


End file.
